


omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam dei

by staubfingers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam Winchester, Canon Rewrite, Canon Temporary Character Death, Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, no beta - we die like everyone on that show does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: “It's not fair,” he whispers when he can't bear the silence anymore.Dean laughs at that, and if Sam wouldn't know him if he hadn't seen, heard, felt Dean's genuine laugh countless times, he might not have recognized the trace of fear he's trying to hide with it. “Yeah, well, hate to break it down to you, but nothing about our lives is ever fucking fair.”At least on that they can agree.Sam thinks about kissing his brother for the first time when he's fourteen years old. It all goes downhill from there. (A wincest-y, season by season re-tell.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 61
Kudos: 67





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm obsessing over this stupid show, again, and started to re-watch it. Ops. And because I have to go _somewhere_ with all my thoughts I'll write this.  
> One chapter will cover one season and while I work around the major plot-points I might ignore some smaller stuff. So, it won't be necessary to be familiar with every little thing that has happened on this crazy show (which is impossible, anyway, I think). While I plan to cover all seasons I'm not sure I'll really do that, considering that the seasons get kinda... repetitive in the end, but we'll see.  
> Since I'm writing this while I'm re-watching the show it'll definitely take me some time to finish this. However, at the moment I think one chapter a month seems realistic.  
> One last thing: English is not my first language, so there will be stupid mistakes, I'm really sorry.

Sam is fourteen years old when he thinks about kissing and his brother in the same context for the first time. In a totally innocent way, though, at least this is what he'll try to tell himself later.

He had gone to the small, local cinema with a girl named Charlotte after school, and when the movie was over he gathered all his courage and kissed her. The kiss was rather tame, hardly any tongue involved, but at that moment Sam felt like this was the hottest thing he'll ever experience.

The first thing he does when he comes home is, naturally, to tell Dean all about it, who seems so proud that he asks all kinds of questions. “Who made the first move? Did you touch her in places you aren't supposed to? What did she say after? When are you going to see her again?”

It's a somewhat embarrassing affair, but Sam is still _glowing_ , and so he doesn't really care, and he dares to admit at some point, “I'm afraid I'll fuck it up next time. I don't think- I don't really know what to do.”

Now, it's Dean who looks embarrassed and Sam is already about to say it was just a joke when Dean sighs overly dramatic and explains with a grin, “You need to go slow, Sammy. Don't just stick your tongue into her mouth and _swirl_ it or some shit like that. And don't try to eat her face like those guys do on that stupid soap operas you always watch. Instead, you open your mouth just a little-”

“Okay, never-mind,” Sam interrupts him and tries to sound as disgusted as possible, “Please, forget that I've asked.”

“Definitely won't.” At this point Sam gets up to leave for his room, but that makes the grin on Dean's face grow only that much wider, “You're missing out on some exceptional knowledge, young padawan.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off Dean.” But he's not able to keep the laugh out of his voice entirely.

For the rest of the night he wonders if Dean would have given him some useful advice, after all, had Sam bothered to listen to his usual bullshit first. Maybe Dean felt as insecure when he kissed a girl for the first time, Sam thinks, even though it seems unlikely. His brother has always been, above anything, sure of himself. Now that Sam lets his mind wander he realizes that he has never seen Dean kiss anyone, though. He's aware that Dean kisses all kinds of woman on a regular basis, even sleeps with them, but he has always done it out of Sam's sight, which is kind of astonishing, considering that they usually live out of each other's pockets. And the longer Sam thinks about this, the more he wonders about what Dean looks like when he kisses those women, whether he keeps his eyes open or not, where he places his hands, and what it is that he does with his tongue. It's all innocent curiosity, it really is.

-

From then on Sam isn't able to forget about it, and at some point he stalks after Dean while he's on a date. Dean told him he would take whatever-her-name-is to the park, and without really planing on it Sam follows him a few minutes after Dean left the house. The park is small and yet central, and Sam has to walk through it when he wants to visit the guy who's sitting next to him in Literature and who's the closest thing Sam has had to a friend in a long time. So, he has the perfect excuse if Dean spots him, and Sam might as well visit his friend for real.

Surprisingly, it all goes down more smoothly than Sam dared to hope for; he has hardly entered the park when he already sees Dean and a blond, thin woman sitting together under a tree. Sam get slowly closer, careful to stay out off Dean sight, and just when he's about only fifteen feet away, hiding behind a bush like a creep, Dean leans forward and kisses the blonde-one.

Even though Sam spent a lot of time picturing this he couldn't possibly know how _good_ Dean looks while he kisses someone. Dean's obviously taking the lead, is in control like he always seems to be, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her cheek, and he's definitely not _eating her face,_ instead he's softly licking into her mouth. The woman seems to melt under Dean's touch and Sam can't hold it against her, he would definitely come undone immediately under Dean's hands and lips.

The thought nearly makes Sam jump and without his previous caution he runs back home. He never stalks Dean after that.

-

Sam tries to forget about it, he really does, at least in the beginning, then, when he kisses the third girl after _the incident_ and is still only thinking about his brother's face while he's unconsciously mimicking the way Dean kissed this woman, Sam realizes that trying to forget is pointless. Instead, he tells himself that it's just a normal reaction since Dean is undeniable attractive, every girl who found out Dean is his brother told him so, and Sam isn't _blind_. It's not really a decision, but from then on he starts to watch Dean more closely.

Ever since Sam can remember Dean and dad only slept in their underwear and Sam followed Dean's example like he does with everything. It never has been an issue, not until now at least, since Sam is certain his brain just shuts down whenever Dean stands in front of him with a bare chest and sleep-tousled hair. Their constant workouts from an earlier childhood on gave them both a strong, muscled figure, but while Sam is just tall and big, Dean looks _perfect._ It's obvious, even under his clothes, however, when he's standing half-naked in front of Sam the desire to stare at Dean _forever_ gets nearly unbearable. And it's not just the way Dean looks that Sam admires, but the way he moves and carries himself, as well. It's so full of strength, and elegance, and Sam is half convinced that he just wants to be like Dean.

This, however, changes one morning when Sam sits in the kitchen and eats his breakfast, and the moment Dean walks in, his boxer briefs hanging a little lower than usual on his hips, Sam's dick decides to get painfully hard in a matter of a few seconds.

At first Sam is too shocked to do more than turning embarrassingly red, a sick feeling spreading in his gut, then, when some blood has finally flowed back into his brain, he takes off to the bathroom. As soon as he closed the door behind himself he leans against it, trying to get his breathing back under control and to forget about how bad he wanted to sink down on his knees in front of Dean, to pull on those briefs and... He does throw up then, his erection gone.

When he walks back into the kitchen dad furrows a brow and Dean did thankfully put on some clothes. Dad is hardly ever home since Sam turned twelve years old and was therefore “basically an adult”, but of course he's here now. “You're alright, Sam?” he asks and sounds slightly concerned. He must really look like hell then.

“Think I've eaten something bad,” Sam mumbles and when he sees the worried look on Dean's face he's certain he's about to throw up again.

“You should go back to bed, Sammy,” Dean says.

“He's right, no point in going anywhere when you feel like this,” dad agrees, and Sam takes off to his room immediately. He can count on his fingers how often his father let him stay in bed, and he doesn't want to risk him changing his mind, not now.

Sam does throw up a few times more this day, so he probably really caught some kind of virus, and this nearly convinces him that his hard-on was not more than a strange side effect. Nearly.

-

It takes Sam about two more years to realize that he not only has some unhealthy feelings for his brother, but is generally more attracted by a male body than a female one. He kissed a few girls ever since Charlotte (and realized that this first kiss definitely wasn't the hottest thing ever) and slept with two girls he had dated beforehand, however, never stayed in town long enough for him to fall in love with either of them. At least he thought that this was the reason he never felt more than friendship for them (this, and his sick obsession with his brother), but then he meets Jasper.

They're staying in this small town somewhere in the Midwest longer than usual, and Sam is definitely not going to complain, especially since it's his last year of high-school. Jasper just moved there as well, and being the new kind in a small town is always hard. Sam has long stopped caring about what other people think of him, though, so he tries to make it easier for Jasper. They stick together mostly, even when Jasper joins the soccer team and gets a lot of friends there. He tries to convince Sam to join as well, but of course dad would never let him, yet, it's somewhat embarrassing to admit this, so he just says he rather concentrates on the finals. Jasper accepts it with a shrug and calls Sam over whenever he's sitting with his teammates anyway.

In retrospect Sam realizes that they were sort of dating all along, even though they never held hands, nor went on a real date per se, or stuff like that, but the way they supported each other was unusual, at least for Sam's limited experience in friendships. Not to mention that their conversation got more and more flirtatious over time, and even Sam wasn't dense enough to miss that.

Thus, it's not really too much of a surprise when Sam waits for Jasper to leave the locker room after one of his matches, and his teammates tell Sam Jasper is still under the shower. Sam walks into the room then, not really pondering the _why_ , instead following some sort of instinct. He finds Jasper standing there, naked and definitely the last one of his team, and when Sam merely raises an eyebrow Jasper grins like a shark.

It's a rush from this point on, Sam doesn't know who makes the first move, but he ends up pressed with his back against one of the lockers, tongue in Jasper's mouth and hand around his dick. They jerk each other off fast and sloppy and Sam barely avoids getting cum on his jeans.

“First time?” Jasper asks went they sit outside later, sharing a beer.

“With a guy,” Sam says, “But if I knew it feels like that I would have definitely done it sooner.”

Jasper only laughs and kisses him again after he made sure no one is nearby nor watching.

From then on they go slower, and this time Sam certainly does fall in love, so much that not only his hearts gets broken when they leave town eventually, but that he even forgets Dean over it for some precious weeks.

-

Ever since Sam followed Dean to that park and wished that it was _him_ whom Dean kissed, he desperately wants to talk with someone about it. The problem is, however, that Dean is the only one he ever really talks to, and he hardly can go to him with this, can he? (Not that he could tell anyone else that he, now and then, involuntarily pictures his brother when he jerks off. Or that there are days he just wants to crawl under Dean's skin, wants to climb into his bed, sling his arms around him and never let got.) However, after Jasper he met another guy in one of the bars Dean took him to when they were in need of some fast money, and while Dean “earned” a few hundred dollars, Sam and the guy, whose name he doesn't remember, blew each other in one of the filthy bathroom stalls. Dean didn't notice anything and Sam was as relieved about it as he was disappointed.

This random bathroom-fuck turned him on more than the girls he made out or slept with ever did, and it feels like the finale conformation for Sam that he's gay. It doesn't really bother him, not after spending the last three and somewhat years having inappropriate thoughts about his _brother_ , but he still feels the need to talk about it. For a moment he entertains the thought of calling Bobby, and while he's eighty percent sure Bobby will be supportive, the man doesn't strike him as the kind of guy who would be able to do more than say something along the lines of, “good for you, son,” before hanging up. Dad, on the other hand isn't an option either, but for the reason that Sam is eighty percent sure that his father won't be supportive. At all. And that leaves him with Dean, which is a depressing reminder of the fact he doesn't really have any people in his life despite his family.

It's Friday night and Sam didn't really plan on it, but he's drunk enough to think it's the perfect moment to talk to Dean. Like always Dean complained about Sam begin too young to drink beer, there wasn't any force behind it, though, and, like always, he gave Sam one of the cans with a sighed, “Don't tell dad.” They picked some stupid action movie to watch and ordered greasy pizza, and Sam doesn't remember feeling this happy in a long time. He tries not to think about the fact that he'll be, if everything works out, off to college soon, and then he won't be living with Dean anymore, that they won't just watch movies together every other night and talk shit about the bad acting and horrible writing.

Of course Sam spends the better part of those nights with ignoring his desire to just lean into his brother, to place his head on Dean's shoulder and make him sling his arms around Sam like they did countless times when they were children. Tonight, even this doesn't matter, though, Sam is just drunk and happy and without really giving it a second thought he says, “I think I'm into guys.”

“Yeah, Sammy, sure you- What?” Dean, who has been staring onto the screen until now, turns to Sam with a confused look on his face.

“You remember Jasper? I think he was my boyfriend.”

“You _think_ he was your boyfriend?” Dean repeats, eyes wide, and something in Sam's gut starts to twist. Maybe he should laugh, say it was a joke, but he's sick of keeping so much to himself all the time, so he nods, “We didn't really go out, because you know, but we kissed and... stuff.”

Dean turns the TV off then, lips a thin line, “Why are you telling me that?”

“Why shouldn't I?” Sam snaps. The possibility that Dean could react with anything else, but acceptance hadn't even crossed Sam's mind, and the shock makes him angry above anything. “It's not like we don't talk about stuff like that. You certainly tell me all about the chicks you fuck!” (And Sam hates it because every time he gets jealous and has to bite his tongue in order to hide it from Dean.)

“I don't tell you- that not the point! Jasper, this freakish tall guy? That was four months ago! Why are you telling me now? I sit here, enjoying this movie, minding my business, and you-”

“Are you telling me I've _ruined_ your evening?!”

The look on Dean's face softens somewhat then, “It's not about- Shit, Sammy. You went out with all those girls, and now you're telling me you're gay? What am I supposed to do here? What did you _expect_ me to do?”

“I don't know. I thought I could tell you this about myself without you being all _disgusted._ ”

“Am not!” Dean objects, but the guilty look on his face proves Sam right. Fuck, why couldn't he keep his mouth shut like he has done for all those years? He pushes the thought away, though, and growls, “Screw you, Dean!”

He gets up and is about to take off for his room, but Dean follows suit, “No, fuck you, Sam! You tell me that without any warning, and now _I_ am the asshole for not cheering? I don't care who it is you're fucking, but you can't expect me to approve of it!”

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, that Sam nearly starts to cry. But he won't give Dean the satisfaction, he _won't_ , so he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “Yes, I can expect that.” And with this he pushes past Dean and more or less runs to his room before the tears get the chance to fall after all. Well, at least he doesn't feel guilty for leaving for the first time since I sent the first application.

-

They don't talk about it, of course they don't, but Dean looks even worse than Sam feels the next morning. The silence between them gets so strained that _dad_ seems to realize something is off, taking his constantly raised eyebrows in, and for the first time Sam is glad that their father has never bothered to ask them about what's going on in their lives.

The worst thing about it, however, is that it changes nothing about the fact that Sam wants to be _close_ to Dean, that the need for his brother feels sometimes unbearable. And Dean can never know that, he won't forgive Sam for that. (Not when he can't even accept Sam wanting to fuck men who aren't related to him.)

“You know I'm always on your side, Sammy, don't you. No matter what,” Dean tells him a week later, and it's the closest thing Sam ever got to an apology.

-

Dad kicks him out when Sam tells him he's going to Stanford this fall. He knew it would go down _bad_ , but he didn't expect it to be this ugly. Furiously he packs his clothes, a few books and photos, his phone, and the money he saved those last months into his bag. At least they're only a few hundreds miles away from Bobby's and tomorrow a bus is leaving in the general direction, Sam checked earlier that day, just in case.

Before walking out he shouts that he's glad that he doesn't have to spend another night under the same roof as his father, that he hates him for ruining his childhood, and dad calls him an ungrateful brat and other ugly things Sam tries not to listen to.

All the while Dean just stands by silently. So much for “being always on your side,” Sam wants to yell at him, but he's afraid he'll start to cry after all. Dean's blank face somehow hurts more than anything his father ever said to him, and while he tries to ignore the sense of desperation that starts to spread inside his mind, Sam turns around and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean won't be an ass about Sam not being straight in the next chapters, this is not a story about homophobia, promise.


	2. season one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got longer than I thought it would, and I decided to end it with the first episode of season two since it felt kinda ridiculous to end with a fifteen year old cliffhanger.  
> There is some discussion about parents abusing their children, but nothing too graphic. However, there is still something I wanted to say regarding it in the end notes.

When Jess dies the last spark of hope Sam had of living a normal life dies with her. It's not like he ever _truly_ believed in it (not since he was seven and his dad taught him to shoot a gun in response to Sam begging him to be allowed to join his school's soccer team), but those last four years have made him dare to picture himself living an uneventful yet long life. He nearly feels ashamed for it now, dad's voice from their last talk, _fight_ , still ringing in his ears, _You cannot run from this!_ And he couldn't.

However, above all he feels guilty. He got Jess into this all the while being aware of the things that are out there, being after him and his family, just because the thought of sharing his life with this compassionate, kind woman was simply too alluring. So, he ignored all the reasons against not getting close to her, moved into her apartment when she asked him to and even thought about proposing. And he ignored the dreams of Jess dying the same horrible death his mom had died, blaming them on his fucked up childhood. He desperately wants to tell Dean about them in hope of getting some kind of absolution or explanation, but there is none. There's only the fact that two women have died the exact same way, and the only link between those murders is Sam. And he _saw it coming_.

Dean won't forgive him for that, how could he, and Sam can't lose another person (not Dean, he can _never_ lose Dean) and so he keeps it to himself. Instead, he tells Dean that he needs to find the thing that did this, not just for mom but for Jess as well, that he wants to find dad, and that he can't bear the thought of other people going through the same pain he feels right now, especially so when he has the resources to prevent that. It's the truth, of course it is, however there is something else, something more selfish that makes him leave Palo Alto and the life he has to build there behind, and it's the simple fact that he can't even stand the thought of being on his own.

He remembers the night dad had kicked him out and those weeks that followed in vivid detail, and the feeling of being all alone in this world was nearly worse than the sorrow and pain he feels now. Thus even the thought of staying in Palo Alto never crossed his mind, instead he gets into the Impala with his brother right after Jess' funeral.

And that's where finds himself now, in the front seat of the car he spent the better part of his childhood in, listening to Dean's familiar breathing, and looking anywhere but at his brother. All the while he's trying to tell himself that he wouldn't be here if Jess hadn't been murdered, that his decision wasn't made a week ago in the exact moment he laid eyes on Dean for the first time in four years.

-

It's awkward, being around each other twenty-four-seven again after two years of radio silence. Dean hasn't changed at all, Sam realizes a few days in, and it annoys him as much as it's a relief. In those precious moments he's able to forget about what had happened to Jess, it's nearly like he had never left, like Dean didn't stand by silently when dad kicked him out. But those things _did_ happen, and now they're here, both of them pretending they're not pissed, and hurt, and anxious.

This Winchester-inability to talk about any kind of emotion is debilitating, and unfortunately not even Jess with her patience and empathy could undo what Sam's dad had done with the unwillingness to even hug his sons for more than two seconds when they had particularly begged him for it.

Sam remembers Jess asking what was wrong with him for nearly a week before he reluctantly admitted that he couldn't sleep since he was so afraid of failing his finals. He was nearly convinced that she would roll her eyes or laugh at him, but instead she kissed him. ' _Tell me those things,_ ' she said, made him tea and showed him techniques she used whenever she couldn't sleep either.

Of course even the thought of telling Dean he was afraid about something as _unimportant as school_ was ridiculous, he would hardly get more than a “Get over it, _Samantha_ ,” on a good day, so how his Sam supposed to tell Dean he feels like shit all the time? That he wants to bring Jess back, that he wants Dean and him to be like they were before. That he wants more of Dean that he should want. That he sometimes wants to make it all _stop_.

-

It gets easier when they fall back into some kind of rhythm. They find a new case, do some research, kill the monster and save people's lives, just to do it all over again. Sam won't admit to it out loud, but he _missed_ this. The rush and thrill of a hunt, the high of getting out alive, of being victorious. It makes him feel sick sometimes, but at least he does the _right thing._ That's what he tells himself anyway, so he is allowed to enjoy it now and then, isn't he.

In between hunts they do the boring stuff, laundry, maintaining their weapons, stocking their supplies, and earning some cash. Whereas “earning” is a stretch, since Dean's still getting his money out of semi- to not-at-all-legal sources.

“Don't wet your pants, Sammy,” he said after Sam had suggested earning part of their money by working a regular job for a few days a month, “We're already saving their sorry asses on a daily, we don't owe them tax money on top of that.”

And while this logic is _flawed_ at best Sam lets it go since he missed this stupid banter, indeed so much that he nearly _cries_ when Dean calls him a “bitch” for the first time in four years. It's embarrassing, really, but he's too glad that they're nearly back to how it was before to even care.

-

However, there is no “normal” for a Winchester, and especially not for Sam, and so more nights than not he wakes up gasping and sweating, the smell of burned flesh still lingering in his nose. Usually he's able to keep it quiet enough for Dean not to notice, or so he though, since tonight he's not woken by his own panic, but by a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Dude, come on, it's a dream.” When he opens his eyes the flames swallowing Jess' body start to fade, and instead he finds himself face to face with his brother. It takes him longer than most nights to realizes where he is, and _why_ , and it might be entirely due to the fact that he doesn't remember Dean waking him from a nightmare in a decade.

“You're alright,” Dean mumbles, Sam hardly understand what he says, though, because this situation is not just unexpected, but Dean's hand is still clasping the naked skin of Sam's shoulder.

Ever since Dean broke into his apartment Sam does his best to not touch him, or even to look at him too closely for that matter. Of course, this is nearly impossible when you spend most of your time together in the proximity of a car or a small motel room, but he still _tries_. They hardly ever slept in more than their underwear, and it's still warm, and there is no real reason not to other than that Sam can hardly stand it. Whenever he sees Dean's bare chest and back he's confronted with a dozen scars that weren't there when Sam left, and he can't shake off the guilt, somehow certain that he's responsible for every single one of them, that Dean wouldn't have been hurt if Sam had only been with him. And while this is a painful reminder to how bad everything still is between them, (Dean didn't share a single story of what had happened to him in those last two years, and neither did Sam) the hot feeling that is spreading in Sam's gut at the sight of his brother's naked skin is even worse.

He knew that he wasn't over this- this unhealthy obsession, not when he had, more often than not, pictures of his brother in mind while sleeping with his girlfriend, but while there was still radio-silence between them those pictures faded more and more. Ever since he's back on the road with Dean, though, the need to _touch_ gets more and more intense by the day.

It's not that he thinks about doing _immoral_ things with his brother (he doesn't, he doesn't he doesn't), he just wants to be close to him, hug him, feel Dean's body against his own, skin on skin. However, Winchester don't do these things, probably no pair of siblings does those things, no matter how close and emotionally available they are, but this _desire_ nearly drives Sam mad with shame and desperation. Sometimes, it takes all of Sam's strength to not stare at Dean for hours on end while they're sitting in the Impala, to not marvel at his brother's face like it's the prettiest thing he has ever seen. (It is.) And then there are those days Sam is seconds away from reaching over just to place his hand on Dean's', or on Dean's neck, anywhere just to feel the warmth of his skin.

Now, Dean does touch him, his hand still holding onto Sam's shoulder like it's normal, like they just do this. Sam wants to melt into the touch, wants to place his hands on Dean's back to pull him down with him, make him sleep in his bed, so that he can be safe in his brother's embrace and forget all about nightmares and monsters, like he did when he was ten and Dean fourteen, and they slept this way for the last time.

(Even then they were too old for this, and while Sam didn't understand it then, Dean already seemed to have realized how _sick_ his little brother was, for that he told Sam that they couldn't do it any more first thing in the morning. When Sam had woken up from another nightmare a few days later and Dean refused to lie down next to him, Sam cried himself to sleep. He feels pathetic about it, even now.)

“Yeah,” Sam agrees to whatever Dean said to him a few seconds ago and literally _flees_ the bed. He locks himself in the bathroom and stays in there until he's sure Dean fell back to sleep, or pretends to be asleep again, whichever it is.

All the while he tries to tell himself that his skin does _not_ still tingle where Dean touched him for only a few seconds.

-

They get mistaken for a couple and Sam _hates_ it. Not so much that this woman tells him they're really cute together, but Dean's reaction to it, who looks like he's deeply insulted by the sheer possibility of someone thinking he's _gay._ It makes Sam remember the day he had told Dean he thinks he's more into boys than girls, and Dean reacted nearly disgusted. He's still hurt by that, hurt and angry because his brother acts like the same closed-minded red-neck now like he did then.

However, he would've probably shaken off this incident with a laugh if it weren't for the fact that he can't stop thinking about what it would be like if Dean really was his _boyfriend_. Even thinking this word make Sam's cheek burn up in shame, but there is this tiny part of him that wants to be able to take Dean's hand without feeling this awful guilt.

-

Dean seems to take the fact that not just one but two people thought he was gay in the span of an hour even harder than Sam originally thought, for that Dean starts to flirt more aggressively than ever before. Which seems nearly impossible, considering Dean has flirted with every mildly attractive girl and then woman ever since he grew his first stubble. Normally, Sam doesn't care, never really did, but tonight is different since Dean obviously not only plans on finding a woman to fuck in a dirty bathroom for himself, but one for Sam, as well.

At first there are only a few off-hand remarks like “Look at her, Sammy,” or “That one is definitely into you!”, but the drunker he gets, the more he tries to get some kind of reaction out of Sam _._ And after he refused to talk to the sixth woman Dean had picked for him, he's about to leave the shitty bar, they originally came to in order to celebrate another successful hunt. However, the exact moment Sam is about to go to look for his brother to say his goodbye, Dean comes back, a pretty woman on either arm, both clearly as drunk as Dean is by now.

“Look Sammy, this is Rachel and this is Sarah, and Sarah really, really likes you,” he slurs, and this is the final straw.

Sam grasps the keys Dean placed on their table nearly half an hour ago so that his 'ass looks hotter', and with a hissed, “Fuck you,” he leaves the bar.

Of course, he's not so lucky to get to the Impala unhindered, halfway there he hears Dean shouting after him, “You can't just go!”

“Only had one beer,” Sam says without turning around nor slowing down.

“Not what I meant, and you know it,” Dean replies and sounds way closer than he did a few seconds ago.

Sam stops in his tracks then anyway, but is already regretting it when Dean comes to a halt in front of him as well, big, stupid grin on his face, “She's hot for you, you can't just leave her like that.”

There is so much that makes Sam angry about this statement, from the objectification of every pretty female Dean has ever seen, over the sheer ignorance of how uncomfortable Sam obviously has been all evening, to the fact that he wants nothing more than to place his hand on Dean's ridiculously handsome face, trace all the lines he could draw in his sleep. He doesn't say any of that, though, instead he settles for, “My girlfriend _died_ , Dean! And now you want me to fuck any random woman who's drunk enough to talk to you.” It bothers him, it really does, maybe just not as much as the rest.

“It has been-” Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off right there, “If you dare to say ' _It has been months_ ,' I swear I'm gonna hit you!”

“I wasn't,” Dean snaps, but the guilty look on his face betrays him. Then, before Sam even gets the chance to punch him after all, Dean's lips curl into an ugly sneer, “Or wouldn't you be that angry if it was a _guy_ I got for you. Think, I remember you telling me you're gay, Sammy.”

It's meant as an insult and Sam gets so angry that he suddenly doesn't feel anything at all, there is only some sort of white emptiness left inside his head. “You can walk home, Dean,” he says, and it sounds weak even to his own ears. Still, Dean doesn't say anything else, and Sam turns around before his brother can change his mind.

Back in the motel Sam showers since he suddenly feels like the filth of the bar clings to his skin, and when he falls into bed, still damp, he starts to cry.

-

They don't talk about it, of course they don't, but Dean's obviously sorry. Sam doesn't know how he did get back to the motel (it were more than five miles to the bar and Dean isn't found of walking, especially not when he's drunk), or when, or what he did in between, he simply wakes up to an unusually quiet brother and a cup of fresh coffee on his night-stand.

For the next few days Dean stays nearly completely silent and does all the nasty work they normally fight over doing (for instance, and mainly, laundry) and even lets Sam pick the place where they get their meals from every single time without complaining.

It nearly makes Sam forget about what Dean has said to him, and while they always rather apologize in action than in words, it would be nice to hear it for once, though. However, it's not like Sam ever said he was sorry for leaving Dean behind to hunt alone, and with no one but a father who couldn't give a damn about them to give Dean company, either. And the more time Sam spends with Dean, the more he realizes how glad his brother is to have him back, how betrayed he must have felt when Sam left for Stanford.

So, Sam might not forget about the ugly look on Dean's face when he reminded Sam that he was _supposed_ to be gay, but with every day it feels more like they're even.

-

The worst thing about driving for hours and days on end is that it gives you too much time to think. When Sam was still a child he slept or read through most of it, but now he's hardly able to fall asleep and feels sick after just three pages. (The not-sleeping-part is a benefit, though, since Sam still dreaming about Jess, and fire, and this horrible smell more often than not.) Thus, he needs to occupy himself with his own mind, and apparently he's got nothing better to do than to think about what their life could be like.

He has long given up on imagining what his life would have been like if mom hadn't been killed, there is no way to go back, and the pictures of a normal, boring childhood get him into an ugly state of anger and devastation anyway. Instead, he wonders what will happen when they'll find dad and the thing that killed mom and Jess (and they will, he won't allow himself to think about the alternative either). Maybe they could settle down, Dean and him. Sam could finish college and Dean could work as a mechanic like a wanted to when they still were kids. Dean would marry a pretty woman and have kids, and even though Sam doesn't _like_ the thought he wants to see his brother happy above all, and he might even find someone to fall in love with again himself. They would do the occasional hunt when something came too close, but it would be the exception, not their daily lives. It feels good to picture this, and he knows Dean wants it as well, somewhere deep down, and Sam will give anything to make this happen.

Then, dad suddenly calls after six months of radio silence, and Sam's relief last for thirty seconds before he realizes that dad is just the same old asshole he has been when he kicked Sam out. He doesn't ask about how they're doing, only says he's sorry about Jess (he sounds genuine, and at that moment Sam remembers that his dad felt the exact same pain he feels now himself, and that it was this pain that made John into the distant and neglectful father that he has been and still is, and it breaks Sam's heart), and then he tells them to go on some hunt in bumfuck nowhere while he takes care of the demon that killed mom and Jess.

Sam is angry, so angry that he's about to shout right into the speaker all those nasty things he wants to tell his father since forever, when Dean snatches the phone from him. And Dean, being the good little solider he always has been, just says, ' _Yes, Sir'_ , and doesn't even ask where dad was all those months.

At this moment hates them, he even hates Dean. It's not so much about his brother's inability to stand up to their father, though, but about the realization that they'll never have the boring life Sam has been picturing them to have for the last few weeks.

-

Dean nearly dies and while Sam is able to keep a somewhat straight head in order to find a way to fix it, he feels like he'll go mad any moment when it's all is over. Of course this wasn't the first time he came close to losing Dean, this job kills anyone sooner or later, doesn't it, but it never felt so _real_ before. Even though Dean is now lying next to him in the other crappy motel bed (Alive. Breathing. Perfectly, beautifully alive.) Sam's mind just doesn't shut up, _What if..._ He doesn't dare to finish this thought, the panic that is taking hold of his body is about to make him throw up as it is, and he can't think about what it would be like to lie in this room alone. All alone, with Dean _gone_ , no way to bring him-

“Sam. Sammy!” Dean's voice is unnaturally loud in the silent room. It's so good to hear it, Sam wants to listen to it forever. “Shit, you need to breathe.”

“I do,” Sam lies. He isn't. Sometimes it happens, mostly after a hunt when they came too close to _losing the fight_. It didn't in years, though, it had stopped even long before he left.

“You need to-” Dean begins, sounding concerned now, and Sam interrupts him right there, “Yeah, I know.” He starts to count his breaths, forces himself to slow them down.

“You're alright?” Dean asks after a few minutes.

“Sure,” Sam grumbles and actually feels somewhat better. “I can't-” He doesn't want to talk about it, he just wants to forget, to go back in time and do _everything_ to make sure that nothing of this ever happens. He swallows around the lump in his throat and says with a hoarse voice, “I can't loose you, Dean. Even the thought... And when I saw you in that hospital and the doctor told me you will be dead in a few weeks- I don't know what I would have done.”

There is a deep sigh coming from Dean, “You would have carried on. This is what we signed up for, isn't it.”

Sam didn't sign up for shit and Dean didn't either. “No, there is no way- You _cannot_ die, Dean, I will- I won't survive it.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean says it like he's in pain, like he's the one who nearly got left behind, “You have to promise, to _swear,_ that you won't do some stupid shit when- if I die. You have to. This is not- you'll carry on like dad did when mom died, and like you did when Je- like you did a few months ago.”

“It's not-”

“I swear, Sammy, I hunt your sorry ass if you even think about doing something stupid.”

For a moment Sam wants to ask what Dean would do if it was him who'd died first, but it feels cruel (and he doesn't want to hear the answer, is certain he wouldn't be able to stomach it either way), so he settles for, “I'm gonna burn you, there is no way you can come back to haunt me.”

It's weak, but Dean huffs anyway, “Oh, believe me, I'd find a way. And now try to sleep, wanna get out of this place first thing in the morning.”

Sam should do as Dean tells him, he should shut up, just for once, but this is nagging on him for the past few days, “Did dad call you?”

“No,” Dean says after some hesitation, then, “Why?”

When the doctor had told him Dean would die, the first thing Sam did, after he was able to stop the useless tears from falling, was to call dad. Expectedly, dad's phone went straight to voicemail and despite him calling them only a few weeks ago he hasn't called back yet. “Just wondering,” Sam says because he doesn't want Dean to know that there is the possibility that their father knew Dean was dying and didn't even bother to check in.

Of course Dean could always read him like an open book and Sam regrets saying anything at all.

-

The nightmares get worse and Sam is afraid of falling asleep. He's not waking up any longer when Jess' body starts to burn, instead he stays in the room with her, lies on the bed they've shared for a year, watches her skin turn red, then black and then fall off her bones in chunks. When he's lucky he wakes up before he feels the flames taking hold of his own motionless body. He's not lucky often, though. Thus, he tries to keep himself awake, only sleeps one or two hours a day, headache getting worse proportional to his fear of closing his eyes.

Dean's grim-faced even more often than before, looking at Sam like he wants to say something and instead visibly bites his tongue. He doesn't sleep either, and Sam feels so guilty about it that he at least tries to pretend to be asleep at night. Not that he's fooling anyone.

After a week or two of this routine he can't fight his body any longer, and as soon as they enter their motel room he falls down on the bed and is unconscious within seconds. And for a few precious hours he does get a wonderful, dreamless sleep. Then the visions start.

When they find Max it takes Sam only a few minutes to see that the guy is like him. He lost his mother in the same way, and he's having the same strange dreams and headaches, and for the first time Sam is hoping that there will be an answer to all his questions, that the reason for his dreams was to bring him and Max together. However, before Sam can really talk to him, Max kills himself.

Sam's numb, sitting in the Impala while Dean drives them to god-knows-where, and he holds onto this numbness because letting go of it would make room for the fear that is clawing on the edges of his mind. Strangely, he hardly even thinks about his newfound ability to move objects with the sheer will of his mind. It's a bad sign, he's aware of that, a fucking horrible one, to be honest, but it got him out of that closet and to Dean just in time to save him from Max's bullets. Max, who lost his mom the same way Sam did, who had visions and was able to move things with his mind just like Sam. Max, who felt alone and hurt and angry. Just like Sam does.

"You're not like him," Dean growls, so unexpectedly that Sam flinches.

For a moment he wonders whether he unconsciously voiced any of those thoughts, or whether it's just so obviously written on his face. Probably the last one. "I am," it sounds calm, nearly disinterested, and he's surprised that he's even able to speak at all, "It was like I talked to myself. I understood him, what he felt, what he went through. His dreams had gotten worse as well, and he couldn't sleep, and then this thing - this thing inside us made him _snap_."

"No, Sam," Dean's grip around the wheel tightens, so much that his knuckles turn into an unhealthy shade of white, "No one and nothing made him do anything. It was his _choice_. He chose to kill his father and his uncle, and then he tried to do the same thing to his stepmother and me. He did this. Not only that, but he just used this- it- whatever. You talked to him, tried to calm him down, but he didn't want to. It was him, him alone who made these decisions."

"It was a part of him, it's a part of me, and it's not..." Sam sighs, uncertain what he's trying to say, "He had the same abilities, and they have something to do with what happened to mom, to Jess. There is- what if that's what it's all about, what if they were killed to turn us into..." Into what? Killers? Monsters? He suddenly realizes that his hands are shaking, and he places them under his legs so that Dean doesn't see it.

“Max was a-” Dean clears his throat, “A lot of shit happened to him, and he wasn't able to do anything about it, and when this... when he got that _thing_ he was suddenly able to, but instead of getting out of there, or, I don't know, looking for someone who could help him he just killed everyone. Fuck, he slaughtered his father and made it look like a suicide, this is not self-defense.”

“But he wasn't like that before, he wouldn't have done it without _it_.”

“Yeah, maybe. Fuck, Sammy,” Dean takes his eyes off the road then and looks at Sam, it's only for a moment, but it feels like Dean sees right through him, sees all the fear that Sam is desperately trying to hide, “That doesn't mean you'll go all crazy yourself. His father beat the shit out of him, and his stepmom just watched. He would have gone rogue either way, all this thing did was fasten everything up a bit. But nothing like that did ever happen to you.”

The last words sound more like a question, pleading nearly, and Sam bites his lip. He remembers all the instances' dad hit him or Dean, it was never more than a slap, though, and when Dean's lip split one time dad never did it again. Of course, they both had their fair share of cuts, burns and broken bones, but never because of their father, but because of their training, or a monster that they hunted. No, John never abused them, neglected them, sure, however Sam can't even begin to imagine what Max' childhood was like. And then there is _Dean_ , because all he thinks about when he hears the word “childhood” is his brother. Dean who made sure that Sam had something to eat, and made his homework, and went to bed on time. Dean who read him stories when he woke up from a nightmare, and who held him until he fell asleep again. Dean who tended all of his injuries, from a small cut to that bullet wound he got in the leg one time. Dean who always made him feel safe, no matter what monster they were hunting, who made him feel loved, who still does that.

“No,” Sam concludes, “My childhood was nothing like his.”

Dean's shoulders sink so obviously in relief that Sam forgets one moment what he was afraid about in the first place.

-

When it gets dark they stop in some rural town and rent a room in a slightly less shitty motel than usual. Dean leaves for a few minutes (in which Sam desperately tries not to crawl out of his skin) and comes back with take-out from somewhere. Sam isn't hungry and the food is tasteless, but he doesn't want to worry Dean any further, so he eats everything without complaining. “Want to watch a movie?” Dean asks when they've finished, even though his eyes fall shut nearly every few seconds. Grateful, Sam merely nods, and after a quick brush of teeth they lie down on their beds.

As soon as his body hits the mattress Sam realizes how tired he is himself, but tonight the prospect of sleep feels even more gruesome than the weeks before, so he sits up straight against the headboard and tries his best to focus on whatever movie Dean has picked. Despite his best efforts he starts to drift off half an hour in, though, and every time it happens he jerks awake violently, breath coming too short and fast.

Hours seem to pass like that, and Sam wouldn't even notice it if there wasn't suddenly a weird guy on the screen, talking about some kind of magic pan. The headache is back, not as bad as it tends to get, but still distracting. At least he won't be able to fall asleep like that. Hopefully. Why is the guy suddenly shooting lasers at the pan? Sam had bought a new pan only a few days before Jess was killed. Did the pan survive the fire? If he had bought the magic pan it certainly would have.

“Sam, you need to sleep. Just- you need just one night of sleep.”

It's obvious that Dean is not talking about him, or at least not exclusively. Feeling guilty, Sam takes the remote and turns the TV off. He's aware that he's keeping Dean awake with his behavior, that he's doing it for weeks now, and Dean's right, they _need_ sleep. “Sorry,” he mumbles and lies down, however still not feeling ready to close his eyes.

There is a sigh coming from Dean's side of the room and then the sound of feet hitting the floor. When Sam turns his head Dean is already standing right next to his bed, “Scoot over.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Dean says, already sinking down next to Sam. He does as he's told then, still confused and somehow overwhelmed. When he's lying as close to the edge as he dares to Dean sits up against the headboard, the same position Sam was in only a minute ago. “What-” he tries again, but Dean interrupts him, “You'll sleep, and I'll wake you the first sign of a nightmare.”

“You need to sleep, as well,” Sam objects.

“Yeah, but it's not- neither of us is getting any sleep this way, okay, and you- Just get some sleep, _please_.” The last word is nearly a whisper, and it makes something inside of Sam's stomach tighten.

“Okay,” he nods.

“Okay,” Dean agrees, “You'll drive tomorrow, though.” It's not really a threat, considering that Dean hardly ever lets him drive, but Sam feels too tired to say that. Dutifully, he closes his eyes, just somewhere in the back of his mind aware of the fact that Dean is in his bed, their bodies a mere inch apart. Before he can give it another thought he's already asleep.

He wakes up the next morning without remembering any dream, and he feels so unusually well-rested that it takes him a while to realize that Dean is still sitting next to him, head in an uncomfortable looking position, snoring slightly. Sam feels so much gratitude and love at this moment that he has to physically hold himself back in order to not reach out and caress Dean's face.

Before he does it after all (or his mind wanders to other, more dangerous places) he gets up and takes a shower. It's the best morning in a long while.

-

Expectedly it's awkward between them. Sam's driving while Dean's sitting next to him, unusually quiet, nodding off now and then for a few minutes, and not once complaining about his surely sore neck. They don't have a destination, didn't even talk about where to go, they just silently agreed to get as far away as possible from where Sam's visions brought them to. (And from the fact that there is something wrong with Sam, more than before anyway.)

Dean's stomach starts to growl in the late hours of the afternoon and Sam's exhausted from the drive, so they stop in a slightly bigger town than last night, eat at a diner and get another motel room. They spend the evening looking for a new case and find a murder that's just slightly off enough to ring the alarm bells in the back of their heads. It's just two states away, and they decide to leave first thing in the morning. Of course this means they'll need to get as many hours of sleep as possible and Sam already regrets telling Dean about the news-article he stumbled upon by chance.

During the day Sam didn't really think about the inevitable moment he had to lie down again, too refreshed and calmed by the undisturbed hours of sleep that lay behind him, however, now there is no way to delay it any further, and sitting on this tiny, uncomfortable bed Sam realizes that he might be only moments away from another nightmare, another vision. The prospect is scary, to fall asleep and be in someone else's head while they go on a killing-spree. _“We don't know whether there are others like you,”_ says Dean's voice inside of Sam's head, but Dean is lying next to him in his own bed, looking as worried as tired, mouth pressed into a thin line. They don't know it, that's true, but Sam's somehow certain that Max and him are not the only ones, that there's more to come.

“Do,” Dean whispers and clears his throat, then continues louder, “Do you want me to- like last night?”

Sam nods before the realization of what those words mean really sinks in. And then Dean's getting up, takes the two steps separating their beds and Sam lies down, pulls the scratchy blanket over his legs and makes room like he did the night before. However, unlike last night he isn't mere seconds from passing out, instead he's painfully aware of how fucking close Dean is to him, how little they're both wearing, how small this stupid bed is. He should have said no, his mind already getting dizzy with how _good_ he feels at this moment.

It gets even worse (better, so much better) when Dean smiles at him, this tiny smile that is so much _Dean_ that Sam's heart seems to miss a beat. He's getting under the blanket with Sam and their legs nearly touch, and Sam can see all those fine, blonde hairs on Dean's stomach right in front of his face. He could kiss the skin there if he props his head up a few inches, he _wants to._ Instead, he says, “You can't sleep like that again. Lie do.”

“Point is not to sleep,” Dean reminds him and Sam could leave it there, he should, but he doesn't, “Yeah, you fell asleep last night anyway and will again eventually. So, just lie down.”

Sam doesn't know why he's insisting, but before he can say anything else he rolls to his side, makes more room for Dean, and Dean sighs, turns off the lights and lies down as well.

Thankfully it's dark now, otherwise Dean would definitely see the red flush on Sam's cheeks since he's lying on his side as well, facing Sam. Their breathing is unnaturally loud in the silent room, and their knees are touching, Dean's are weirdly cold, especially so since the rest of him seems to radiate heat.

“Wanna cuddle, Sammy?” He hears the tease in Dean's voice, but it's weak and there's something else Sam can't put a name on.

“Fuck you,” he tries to say it jokingly, but is as unsuccessful as Dean was. He rolls over then, facing the other direction, and Dean shifts behind him, just slightly. There is a hand on Sam's shoulder, not for longer than a second, and he tries his best not to shiver. “I'll wake you when the dreams start,” Dean promises.

“How do you know when they do?” Sam asks, because his body only ever seems to fight the nightmares when it's already too late.

“I always know. Now sleep, Sammy.”

Again, he doesn't dream.

-

The hunt is more complex than expected, and they don't really get any sleep for three days, and when they do it's in shifts. On the fourth day the ghost is thankfully destroyed, and they pack their stuff to get the hell out of there before the police starts to ask around for the two guys who bothered the victim's family.

They take turns driving, nearly all through the night until they're both too tired to be in a safe place behind a wheel, so they'll find a motel that's manned twenty-four-seven. Sam's stupidly nervous while he's in the bathroom, brushing his teeth absently. Part of him wants to stay in here all night, just sleep in the tub like he did once when he was still a kid and so angry with Dean that he didn't want to face him. Now he doesn't either, but it got nothing to do with anger, but everything with the fact that he _needs_ his brother to sleep next to him and doesn't know how to ask for it.

When he finally leaves the bathroom, though, Dean's already lying in _Sam's bed_. He's on his side, snoring softly, but he left enough room for Sam to slip under the covers beside him. There is a smile on Sam's lips that he can't fight, and thankfully he doesn't need to, so he just lies down with Dean and falls asleep, feeling at ease.

Strangely, he dreams for the first time in over a week. It's like he has just closed his eyes when he sees Jess' face, hanging on the ceiling, mouth opened in a silent scream, when the fire-

“It's alright, Sammy,” Dean slurs somewhere, “It's not real.” Then Jess' gone and Sam's body's shaking, and there's an arm that slings around his middle and pulls him closer against something warm.

“You okay?” Dean's voice is low, he sounds still half asleep, and Sam feels his brother's warm breath against his neck while he speaks.

A shiver runs through his body. “Yes, I'm fine.” And it's true, how could he not. He places a hand on Dean's strong forearm, pulls him a little tighter, and falls back to sleep.

-

Nothing really changes, which is strange considering that Sam feels so wildly different. It's not just that he's well-rested for once, but that he's looking forward to going to bed at night for the first time in ages. (He would never admit to it out loud, but not even with Jess it was anything like it is with Dean. Being with her felt great, like he was a good person who deserved good things, but with Dean he feels like _himself_ , like there's nothing he needs to hide.) (There's a lot he's hiding from Dean.) They always share a bed now, without either of them acknowledging it outside the nightly proximity, and whenever Sam wakes he's surrendered by _Dean._ By his warmth, his arms, his body. It's heavenly.

After the fourth night of this routine they find themselves on another hunt and when Sam unlocks the door of today's motel-room he stands in front of a single, king-sized bed. He stops in his tracks, surprised (pleasantly) and Dean rushes past him with red ears, mumbling something about, “The guy at the counter's a dick.” Which is strange, considering “the guy” is a twelve years old boy, but Sam definitely won't complain.

When he lies down that night Sam's afraid that this unusual wide space will keep them apart, but Dean just places himself as close to Sam as he did the nights before, like they're still one wrong move away from falling out of the bed. (Like he's enjoying being so close as much as Sam does.)

Sam sleeps through without any dream in sight, but still wakes before the alarm, and he would've probably savored those last few minutes of having Dean draped against his back while both of his arms encompass him, if it weren't for Sam's dick that _really likes_ what's happening here.

Actually it's a miracle it didn't happen before (considering that Sam jerks off to images of his brother since he was fifteen and still trying to tell himself it's normal), and now he has to physically hold himself back from pushing back, from pressing his ass against Dean's groin to get some kind of friction. To see if it's not just him who's hard. And this doesn't help with his problem, at all. On the contrary; even the thought of Dean waking up to Sam in his arms, turned on and desperate, makes Sam's dick throb.

Not sure what he'd do if he'll stay a second longer, he frees himself from Dean and leaps to the bathroom. The cold shower he takes helps only somewhat.

-

He usually doesn't get drunk around Dean since he's too afraid of what he'd might say when he lets his guard down. (He did it five years ago, he doesn't want to repeat that mistake.) Anyway, their latest hunt was _personal_ , stirring a lot of bad memories, and Sam forgets about his good intentions when Dean comes back to the motel, a bottle of the only whiskey in his hand that Sam likes. They get drunk silently and when they lie down it's Sam who drapes himself around Dean. For a moment he gets stiff and Sam already regrets it, but then Dean sinks back into him and let's out a little sigh.

“I missed this,” Sam confesses, his nose pressed against Dean's neck, inhaling the smell there.

“Huh?” Dean already sounds half asleep and Sam should probably leave it be, but he's chatty when he's drunk. And he's really drunk right now, at least when the relentlessly spinning room is taken into account. “Sleeping together. I never- Never slept better like I did back then. We should've never stopped.”

A short silence, then, “You know why we stopped.”

And Sam does. They always shared a bed when they were both kids, later, when they got older and taller, they only crawled into each other's beds when dad was gone a day longer than he said he would, or when one of them couldn't fall asleep, or when either of them was scared about those things that lurked in the shadows. All in all they slept together more nights than not. (Over the years Dean stopped crawling into Sam's bed, but he never sent Sam away when he came to him in the middle of the night. He didn't, and then he did anyway and a part of Sam still hasn't forgiven him for that.)

“Because we shouldn't, because it wasn't _normal_ ,” Sam says mockingly. Looking back on the way they were brought up, sharing a bed with his brother seems relatively normal, all things considered.

“Exactly,” Dean agrees, no hint of the mocking tone in his own voice. He does intertwine their fingers, though, and it's now on Sam to let out a happy, little sigh.

A few minutes later he's sure Dean has fallen asleep, and maybe Dean thinks the same thing about Sam, because he whispers nearly inaudible, “I missed this, too.”

-

They only get a single bed from then on, Sam is able to flee the bed before Dean even stirs whenever he wakes up with a hard-on, he doesn't get any more visions, and isn't moving another object with the sheer force of his will either. So everything is fine and Sam tries to convince himself that this is _enough_ , that he has his brother in more ways than he deemed possible a few months ago, and that he's satisfied with it. (He isn't. The words “enough” and “Dean” don't exist in the same context for him.)

He wouldn't be who he is, though, if his life wouldn't take another unexpected, twisted turn then, ruining everything they had built those last few weeks.

It starts with a demon they're after, and they nearly get it, but then they realize it was the demon who trapped them and not the other way around. Well, it actually tried to trap their father, but this is as laughable as it is devastating since dad didn't even reach out after Sam left a message on his mailbox to tell him Dean was dying. So, no help from dad, but they still get out of there, more or less carrying each other since they're both fucked up worse than in a long time.

They're back at the motel, throwing their stuff hurriedly together to get the hell out of here rather yesterday than now, when there's a knock on the door. Sam's already getting hold of his gun, but demons don't knock, and neither does any other monster they know of.

Seeing dad again after more than four years of being angry and hurt is as unpleasant as Sam imagined it to be. Dad and Dean hug, longer than Sam ever saw them do, and have a short chat before dad turns to Sam and... takes him in his arms as well.

It's so unexpected that Sam forgets about how his body works for a moment, just standing there helplessly, and then he returns the embrace just as forcefully. (And Sam doesn't even care that there are tears threatening to fall from his eyes.)

When they part again and Sam is about to say something along the lines of, “It's so good to see you,” or, “Where have you been, we needed you,” he doesn't get the chance, though. Dad's eyes scan the room as if he's looking for something specific and land on the unmade, single bed, both of Sam's and Dean's clothing still scattered upon. The gentleness disappears from his eyes then, instead there's the same spark that Sam saw when he told them about Stanford, and the change is so sudden that Sam unconsciously takes a step back.

“Is this _your_ room?” dad demands, only looking at Dean now. And Dean face screams 'guilty' like he was just caught with a knife in his hand over a dead body, and after visibly gulping down whatever lump set in his throat he says, “It's not li-”

However, in that exact moment the other demon shows up again, the one they didn't get rid of by throwing it out of a window, and it's a close call, even closer than before, but they all get out of there alive.

Dean says they should split up again, and he never seemed more eager to while dad seems equally reluctant at the same time. The look dad gives Dean when they part says, “This talk is not over yet,” and neither Dean nor Sam can get into the Impala fast enough.

-

They only stop after two hours to tend the worst of their wounds, and then drive for another ten hours straight. Sam feels half-dead when they finally stop at another motel, and is determined to skip the shower, no matter how bloody he is, just to finally fall into bed. When he enters the room Dean got them he doesn't feel like sleeping anymore, though. Instead of the single bed he expected, Sam finds himself standing in front of two queen-sized beds. “Is this-” he begins, but Dean cuts him off immediately, “I need to _sleep_ , Sam.” As if it explains anything, as if he didn't sleep better like he did in years with Sam in his arms.

There is no point in arguing, though, not when Dean obviously shut down, and Sam gets a shower after all before he sinks into his cold, too small bed.

Dean's mood doesn't improve over the next few days, and he insists on separate beds, and Sam doesn't address it again, even though neither of them sleeps for more than a few short and restless hours this way. It's ridiculous really, having the resolution to their problem right there, but to refuse to act upon it. Of course, Sam's aware why Dean does that, it's not like the look on dad's face let Sam cold either. However, there is no point in getting all angry over them sharing a bed, not even for a guy like dad who detests physical closeness most days. And there is no way he knows about what Sam is thinking about when he lies in his brother's arms, is there?

For the next two weeks Sam's anxious and cranky, and whenever he starts to dream about Jess Dean merely shakes him awake harshly, just to go right back to his own bed. Then, they learn about the colt that's able to kill anything, not just send back to hell, but _kill_ , and they meet up with dad again, and it seems like they all decided to forget about what has happened last time they saw each other. At least at first.

-

He's alone with dad in the small motel room, sitting at an even smaller table, while Dean is out stocking their supplies. And even though they're about to face a demon (it might lead them to mom's and Jess' killer, however, Sam doesn't want to think about it, doesn't dare to get his hopes up) dad looks anywhere but at the book that lies opened in front of him. It's obvious that he's thinking about something, and taking the stern look on his face in, it's nothing pleasant. Sam wants to be anywhere but here.

When he checks his phone in order to determinate when Dean will be back, dad clears his throat, seemingly feeling as nervous as Sam, which is strange, “I need you to be honest with me- I know it's- But did your brother,” another sigh, nearly painful this time, “Does Dean do things to you that you don't want him to? That he _shouldn't_.”

Sam is so confused about the unexpected direction dad's question is going that the only thing coming over his lips is a choked noise that sounds a lot like, “What?”

“I left you alone far too often,” dad says, focusing on something right next to Sam's head, “And told Dean he was supposed to take care of you. And he did, it was all he ever... But sometimes he crossed a line. I didn't realize it back then, but at some point he didn't even let me near you, said no one was allowed to touch you but him. He was so possessive, and I didn't, but then... the bed. And I knew-”

“No,” Sam says, shocked about dad coming to this conclusion after he saw their shared bed, and shakes his head violently, “This is not- fuck, it's Dean your talking about. He would never, _never_ , do anything that could harm me.” (Not even if Sam would ask him to.)

“I know it doesn't feel like that, and that you love him,” dad does look at him then, and the pain in his eyes is so prominent that Sam's afraid his father is going to cry, “But you need to tell me the truth. It's not your job to protect him.”

Sam feels the weird desire to laugh, because it's hilarious, isn't it. It's Sam who crossed the line, who stalked his brother when he was fourteen and thinks about kissing him ever since. (Kissing, touching, sleeping with, _everything_.) And Dean, who has always been dad's perfect, little solider, who has always put Sam first because _dad told him to_ , now gets the blame for following those orders. If this situation wasn't that absurd Sam would probably get angry, shout at dad, because how he could even _dare_ to think Dean would ever hurt him, but instead he stays calm, nearly emotionless, and says, “I couldn't sleep because I dreamt of Jess every night. I saw her burning, heard her screams, felt myself dying. And I didn't really sleep for _weeks_ when Dean started to sleep next to me so that he could wake me whenever those dreams started.” He doesn't tell dad how they slept tangled together, how he felt like the safest place on earth was in Dean's arms. It's none of his business, it's no one's business but Dean's and his.

Dad doesn't look convinced, opens his mouth in seemingly protest, but before he can say anything Sam growls, “Fuck, what do you want to hear from me? Dean didn't _molest_ me, or whatever you're trying to say! You not just left us alone all the time, we moved every time we started to make friends as well. What did you think would happen? Dean was the only person in my life until I left for Stanford. He was everything to me. He still is! Did you really think I wouldn't get _too close_? That we would be a normal pair of brothers? Fuck, nothing in my life was ever _normal_ , thanks to you! You can't blame either of us for the way things are.” So, he did get angry after all, and while Sam still tries to get his breathing back under control he realizes what exactly he just has said.

Dad seems to realize it as well, because the pained look on his face changes into something else. Confusion and then... pity. A sick feeling starts to spread in Sam's stomach. He didn't say anything explicit, did he? He just- it's not like their father doesn't know how close they are, Sam saying so out loud won't make him realize that Sam is- “Sam, are you-” dad asks, but before he can finish Sam gets up, so fast that the room around him starts to spin.

He thinks about running, about just getting into dad's car and going where-ever, just away from the pitiful look in his father's eyes, but then the door opens and Dean is standing in the room with them.

“Are you fighting again?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes as if he's trying to loosen the tension.

“No,” dad says after a few seconds of staring at Sam, then he turns around to Dean and continues, “Everything is fine. We just found something actually. Look at this.” Sam is surprise by how genuine he sounds, and it's no real wonder that Dean only shrugs then while taking the few steps to the table, leaning over dad's shoulder in order to read whatever page their father is showing him.

Sam's knees nearly give in, in relief because the only thing worse than the possibility of dad knowing, is _Dean knowing._ He'll need to talk to dad when this is over, he realizes, needs to set things straight. (Convince dad that he didn't say what he just said, that he didn't imply his sick feelings for his brother.) Of course Sam will never get the chance to.

-

For a few wonderful minutes Sam is sure they've made it after all: they got dad and the colt back, and they're on their way to safety, none of them seriously harmed. Then, the truck hits them and Sam wakes up to Dean unconscious and bleeding.

The doctor tells him there isn't a real chance for Dean to survive this, but Sam already heard those exact same words four months ago, so like he shuts the panic out like he did back then and focuses on fixing this.

And they _do_. Dean's awake, and the doctor says he'll be fine, and Sam is so ridiculously happy that he doesn't even feel real anger when he fights with dad over the fact that he rather chased after that demon instead of finding a way to save his son.

Later, Sam will wonder how he could be so blind, how he could miss the connection between dad's absence and Dean's miracle healing. However, in those few minutes Sam is getting his father a coffee, he's blissfully happy, and for the first time in months he's convinced that everything is going to be alright.

Then he finds dad's lifeless body and all goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though Sam thinks what John did to them wasn't abuse, it definitely was. Yelling, neglecting, slapping, that are all forms of abuse and are very harmful for a child, or person. So, don't play those things down, especially not to yourself. I know this is exactly was Sam does, but this is usually the way people think about these things in order to cope with them. “It wasn't too bad.” Please always remember, just because someone might have it worse than you it doesn't mean, in any way, that those things that are happening or happened to you, are okay.


	3. season two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, season two, or at least what I made out of it. And damn, the season was really pretty good, especially when you only have watched the latest seasons for years like me.  
> I want to thank everyone who's leaving kudos, comments, bookmarks, whatever. This is so much fun to write, but seeing people enjoying it makes it like thrice as good, so thank you so much!  
> I don't think there is a lot to say left, I ignored some details and made the plot slightly gayer, but you'll see that, and a small _warning_ : There is a very brief mention of abusive behaviour of an ex partner, it's nothing graphic, but if you need more info just contact me. You can do that on [tumblr](https://staubfinger.tumblr.com) as well (:

They burn dad's body on a Thursday, and even though Sam's merely standing a few feet away, he still isn't able to fully grasp it. Looking back it seems like he spent the better part of his childhood being scared that his father wouldn't return from one of his hunts, that one of those monsters would kill him after all. But no matter the odds, no matter how bad he was hurt, John Winchester always got out alive, and some part of Sam got convinced his dad was invincible, immortal even. Of course, that's nothing more than a stupid, little fantasy a boy indulge himself in to overcome his fears, and the smell of burning flesh proves how wrong he was. (Wrong, and stupid, and blind.)

The smell takes him back to that night one year ago, to Jess and her screams and the realization that nothing of this would have happened if she hadn't been killed. If mum hadn't been killed. Sam has long given up on imagining what his life could've been like if his mother hadn't been murdered, but at this moment he just wants to make it all undone.

Next to him Dean is stoically biting his lower-lip in order to keep the tears, that are visibly pooling in the corners of his eyes from falling, and Sam nearly takes his hand, puts his arms around him, nearly lies and says that everything is going to be alright again. Nearly. Ever since dad died two days ago they haven't spoken more than bare minimum with each other, let alone touched. They need to talk about what's happened, what they're going to do, but every time Sam opens his mouth he shuts it again, afraid of what words he might say. There's one question hanging between them, keeping them apart - Why? Why did dad die? Why did Dean miraculously heal? Why didn't their father tell them about what he's done?

It might be hours or minutes, Sam lost any perception of time, and all that's left of their father are ashes, and it's only then that Sam truly realizes that his father is gone (gone, gone, gone). His knees give in, and he would've fallen to the ground if it wasn't for Dean's strong hand, taking hold of his arm and leading him away. Dean doesn't let go of him on the way back, his hand a firm reminder that this is _real_ , that dad is dead and Dean's still alive (he's alive, thank God, he's alive), and it's only when Bobby opens the door he eventually does let go.

Bobby has never been one for physical contact that exceeded the occasional pat on the shoulder, but now he's hugging them, even if it's short, and somehow that's what makes Dean's tears spill after all. They get drunk then, neither saying a word, and Sam once again isn't able to get rid of the smell of burning flesh.

-

It's strange, being back a Bobby's. It's the only place that ever came close to a home, and now they're here just after they've lost that little family they had left. Sam spends his days hunched over books, and while Bobby's collection is impressive, he doesn't expect to find anything that could lead them to the demon. However, he needs to do _something,_ needs to occupy his mind in order to not think about the last conversation he had with dad.

Dean seems to cope in similar ways, at least he's the first who's up in the morning, and the last to go to bed at night. Those waking hours he spends alternating between fixing the Impala and getting drunk. Sam doesn't blame him, even though he didn't have more than a beer since they burned their father's body a week ago. Through all of this Bobby keeps them silent company, and now and then Sam wonders if the man is mourning John as well. It would probably be a stretch to call them friends, on the other hand it's not like you get any closer to other people in their business, and another dead hunter is, above all, a reminder to how your own end is coming rather sooner than later.

Unsurprisingly, Sam still sleeps like shit. He dreams of Jess and dad, and Dean lying unconscious in his hospital bed, the demon saying _he has plans for him_ , and he dreams of Dean dying, which makes Sam jerks awake, covered in sweat, every time. They share the same bedroom they shared ever since they stayed at Bobby's for the first time, back when Dean didn't even grow a stubble. It feels like a lifetime ago, and not like the fifteen years that actually have pasted. Sam is exhausted, so exhausted that he's about to ask Dean to at least sit with him until he falls asleep, but whenever his brother stumbles into their room, drunk, or half asleep, or both, Sam doesn't dare to even open his eyes. He's too afraid of another rejection, of another proof to how deeply Dean seems to resent him these days.

-

“Stop pretending like everything's fine, like you're okay, because you're not!” he tells Dean one day when he can't put up with the silence any longer.

“Oh, I'm the one who's pretending? You're running 'round like dad and you were best friends or shit. The last time you saw him you _fought_. Fought like you always did. You couldn't be left alone with him for more than two minutes without you being at his throat. But _I_ am the one who's pretending,” Dean huffs and seems to wait for some kind of protest on Sam's part. For a moment he thinks about it, but Dean is right, isn't he. There are no words to make it all undone, thus Sam only turns around and walks back into the house.

-

The thing is, he can't stop thinking about the day dad and he were alone in that motel, and he had to tell his father that Dean doesn't abuse him. There are more prominent things he should worry about, (he's still got those abilities, there is still a demon who has plans for him, they're still lacking a weapon to kill it), but Dean is all that's on his mind.

It's still absurd, that dad came to this conclusion, considering he _knows_ (knew) Dean, but Sam gets why someone from the outside might think that something about their relationship is off. He remembers a teacher, way back when Dean didn't drop out yet, who was worried about Sam in particular. She wasn't the first, nor the last: a boy who attended more schools than he was years old, with a father who no one has ever seen in person, and injuries that couldn't be explained with accidents for long (they were indeed accidents, but he couldn't really tell anyone he was training to hunt monsters, either). However, unlike the other teachers she didn't stop asking, and when Sam refused to tell her anything she talked to Dean, who came home strangely angry and immediately called dad, saying that they needed to move as soon as possible.

Then, Sam had only been happy to get away from this teacher with her kind smile and seemingly endless sympathy (he was about to crack, to just tell her everything, hoping she could somehow fix his life, could fix him), and he didn't even think about what it was that she had asked Dean to make him that panicked. Now, he has an idea, and it makes him worried sick that her and dad weren't the only people who saw that there's something wrong with their relationship, and for that with Sam's feelings. And if they could see it there the chance tha _t Dean_ knows as well.

-

There's a message on one of dad's cellphone that was left there four months ago, and they both immediately decide to look into it, anxious to do something besides sitting around uselessly and ignoring all the things they should talk about. Dean bitches for two hours about the car Bobby burrowed them since the Impala is still a wreck, and it nearly feels like they're back to normal. No twenty-four hours later they're fighting again, of course, and what Dean tells him then (“You ran away Sam, you never cared about dad. You were happy that he wasn't part of your life anymore, so stop acting all sad. That's what you've wanted all along!”), hurts more than what he said a few days earlier. Sam is about to hit him for the split of a sscond, only shouts at him, though, (“He pushed us both away! Nothing you did was ever enough for him, and still you put him on a pedestal for all of our lives, and now you regret not telling him off at least once, and are jealous that I could!”), and that's somehow it, both of them shutting up and looking anywhere but at each other. Perhaps, it would have been better if he had hit Dean after all, that might have helped with getting at least some anger out of their systems.

However, the hunt brought them together with Ellen and Jo whom Sam instantly found a liking in, well, at least after they had lowered their guns and offered them something to drink instead. Sam would never admit to it out loud, but he was surprised to meet two female hunters. It's not like he didn't hear about a few during the years, he never _met_ one, though. It's stupid, giving it even a thought, as if their gender could tell him anything about their skills or abilities, and the way both of them eyed him and Dean during their first meeting made him suspect that some people indeed judged them by the mere fact that they're women.

While Sam is surprised, Dean is delighted and doesn't even try to hide it, instead he starts to smile at Jo especially bright and even downright flirts with her when they come back to the Roadhouse after the monster's killed. Even for Dean's means it's inconsiderate, especially since Jo's _mother_ is standing right there, watching. Weirdly, she doesn't look pissed, though, instead she's grinning from one ear to another, and that makes the whole affair even more uncomfortable. Sam's about to just _get out of there_ when Jo says, “I'm sorry Dean, you're really a great guy, but you're just not my type.”

“Oh?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised in a way that's supposed to be sexy (it is), “What is your type then?”

“Just, you know, more tits and a little less cock,” she winks and takes a sip of her beer.

The look on Dean's face is priceless _,_ and Sam's glad he stayed through the awkward flirting just to see his brother desperately looking for the right words, “That's- great. For you. And for all the other les- well, women in general. That's- well done.” The last part he says halfway turned to Ellen. To his credit he cringes not a second later, and his opening his mouth again to make it, without a doubt, even worse, when Ellen comes over and hands him another beer, “Thank you very much.” She's grinning even more than before and Dean returns it somewhat shyly before taking a sip of his beer.

Well, Sam likes those two more and more by the minute.

-

On their drive back to Bobby's Dean inhales deeply, opens his mouth and shuts it again immediately several times. At some point Sam it's about to snap at him to just spit it out finally, but the atmosphere is surprisingly good, especially considering their fight yesterday, so Sam keeps quiet, as well. For the next few days Sam wonders whether it was Jo's (and Sam's own) sexuality Dean wanted to talk about.

-

They're hunting a bunch of vampires when they meet Gordon and the moment the guy opens his mouth Sam knows he doesn't like him. At first, he can't put a name on it, but after they've spent a few hours with him in a bar it's apparent: he's insufferably arrogant. Not just that he wants them to back down because it's ' _his case_ ', as if this job is about prestige or some shit like that and not about fucking saving lives, he's also acting like he knows them forever. It's annoying and neither the Gordon nor Sam is friendly per se, this wouldn't be too bad, though, if Dean wasn't head over heels for him. 

Sam has never been the jealous type, Jess had a lot of friends, some of them men, and sometimes she went out without Sam, and he didn't even think about the possibility of getting jealous until other friends told him they wouldn't “let their girl do those things”. Which was totally weird, and not at all a fitting comparison since Dean's his brother and not his girlfriend, but whatever, he has never felt that with Dean before either. It never matters with how many women Dean flirted or slept with because at the end of the day he always returned to Sam. Thinking back, Sam doesn't even remember Dean ever having a real _friend_ , but the way he's now talking to Gordon seems just too familiar _,_ like they've known each other for years and not mere hours. Like they're _understanding_ each other. (Like Gordon is understanding Dean like Sam never could.)

When Sam says it's time to go back to the motel Dean says he'll stay a little longer, and Sam just storms off, angry and hurt and confused because he never felt that _ditched_ before. Lying in his bed he can't stop thinking about the countless times Dean laughed tonight. Sam hasn't seen him laugh since dad died, and now this random guy is able to do what Sam failed at for weeks.

He isn't able to fall asleep, of course he isn't, and the longer he waits for Dean to come back the more his thoughts start to wander. The reason Dean has always put Sam first was because dad had told him to, but now that their father's gone who's making Dean stay? He seems to really like this Gordon, for whatever reason, so why shouldn't Dean decide to rather hunt with him than with Sam? Their relationship has been strained at best for the last two months, and Sam has left Dean five years ago as well, because it was the right thing _for him_ to do. He never thought about what this decision could mean for Dean, how much he let him down the moment he walked out off that door. Did he really expect his brother would selflessly stay by his side forever after everything he did to him? And if Dean ever knew about those feelings Sam's having for him, what he wants him to be... Maybe it'd be for the best for both of them if Dean and Gordon decided to work together, then Sam could concentrate on finding the demon and when it's killed he would go back to Stanford- or he would keep on hunting. Whatever, he would find a way to make it work. It won't destroy him when Dean leaves him. (It will.)

In the end, Dean also realizes Gordon is a douche, and they leave him behind, handcuffed to a chair, and while Sam's relieved at first, he begins to see that this doesn't mean Dean won't set off to be on his own the next chance he gets.

-

It's later that day, they've been on the road for a few hours, when Dean suddenly pulls over, a stern look on his face. He takes a few deep breaths, gets out of the car and Sam's feeling sick, his stomach cramping and his mind dizzy. So that's it, Dean will tell him they'll go separate ways when they're back at Bobby's. They'll get their own stuff and cars and set off in different directions, keeping radio-silence like they did for nearly two years, only ever calling each other if they've found a new lead on the demon that destroyed their lives.

Sam takes a deep breath himself and steps out with wobbly knees to sit down next to Dean on the hood of the Impala. “I'm sorry, Sammy.”

So, here they go, “It's okay.”

“I should've listened to you when you told me there was something off about this guy.” Dean looks anywhere but at Sam, which is fine, because he doesn't know how he'll handle it when he's eventually send away. He will silently accept it, he will, however Dean has always been able to see right through him. “Don't know what has gotten into me. It was just-” Dean sighs and Sam mumbles another, “It's okay,” because it is, it's probably better for the both of them, anyway.

“No, it's not,” Dean grumbles, “I've been an ass to you ever since- and I shouldn't have 'cause nothing of this is your fault. And I shouldn't even be here, dad he- fuck, Sam what am I supposed to do? How can I possibly live with this?”

Now, Dean is looking at him, and Sam would rather have him not to, since he's never seen his brother that utterly _broken._ For a moment he's confused, but then he realizes that Dean probably isn't trying to send him away after all. Carefully, Sam reaches out and places his hand on his brother's knee. It doesn't get swatted away, which is an improvement. “We'll make it work, we get the colt back and kill the demon.”

“And then what? That won't _fix_ any of that! Shit, I shouldn't even be here. I was supposed to die and then dad did some kind of deal, and now I'm here, and he's not.”

“We don't know that,” Sam objects, “We don't know what happened.”

“Of course we do! I was already _dead_ and instead of me dad died! This isn't a freak coincidence, and you know it.” Yes, he does, but there's no way he'll agree to that when there are tears in Dean's eyes and an unhealthy shade of white on his face.

“Whatever happened, we'll make it all alright again. We'll avenge mom, and Jess, and dad.” And that's all they can do, isn't it, there's no way to go back and resurrect the dead.

“There's blood on my hands, Sam,” Dean says, and it's not more than a whisper, “I don't know if I can live with that.”

“We'll make it work,” Sam says again, and thinks of the blood on his own hands, of mom, and Jess, and the man that died when he saved Dean the first time.

-

After, they get back to something nearly resembling normal. They don't talk about it (dad, his death, Dean dying) again, but there's clearly a weight taken off of Dean's shoulder. Which is strange, considering it's _Sam_ who's the reason for all those deaths, who the demon _has plans for_. However, they're both fine with ignoring it and just working case to case, and it's good, to save people, it nearly makes Sam forget about all the rest.

They're in yet another motel, in yet another part of the country, when Sam jerks awake again from yet another nightmare and Dean gets up with a defeated sigh. “Move over, Sasquatch.” Sam's sure he's still dreaming, but he makes room anyway, and Dean sits down next to him, folding his arms and resting his head against the wall. “I'll wake you, 'kay Sammy.”

Part of him wants to tell Dean to lie down, as well, say he's acting ridiculous, but this is more than he's gotten than in nearly three months, so he only obeys, happily. Finally, he's getting a restful night of sleep.

-

They don't get a king-sized bed again, nor do touch more than strictly necessary, but every time Sam starts to dream Dean is with him, shaking him awake and sitting next to him until he has fallen back to sleep. Some nights he falls asleep, as well, and in the morning the first thing Sam sees is his brother, peaceful and without any hint of the pain that normally to be seen on his face nowadays. (He's beautiful this way.) And it's not only Sam who's sleeping better, Dean is visibly better rested than in a long time.

-

Ellen calls them to work another case, and when they get to the Roadhouse Jo insists on joining them. However, Ellen refuses to let her daughter go with them, which is understandable considering they all don't know each other that well yet, and Jo's getting angry, saying she isn't a child anymore. She reminds Sam so much of himself at this moment, back when dad didn't allow him to work most cases since Sam was _too inexperienced,_ and he couldn't stand being left behind because all he did was getting worried sick about Dean and dad for all the hours, days, they were gone. However, it's definitely better for her to not get dragged any further into this life than she already was.

Which Jo has widely different opinions about for that she's standing in front of them a day later, wide grin on her face and telling the landlord, they're about to rent the latest victim's apartment from, she's Dean's girlfriend. Dean gets somewhat flustered and places his arm around her shoulders awkwardly. It's exactly five minutes later when Ellen calls and demands an answer to where her daughter is, and Dean lies to her that he hasn't got a clue.

“She's going to work cases anyway, better she learns from the best,” he tells Sam after he hanged up, and Sam only feels slightly bad about lying to Ellen.

Well, turns out that Jo doesn't need to learn too much, since she's immediately setting off to the local library and comes back two hours later with a big pile of books with potential leads to the monster they're hunting. They go through them for the rest of the night, and at some point Dean falls asleep on the couch, Sam and Jo still sitting at the dining table on their fifth cup of coffee each. The caffeine doesn't do its job much longer, though, since the letters start to blur more and more in front of Sam's eyes with every page, and a little after one in the morning he gives up, as well. “Okay, that's pointless, I read this sentence like ten times and still don't know what it's about.”

Jo, who's still seemingly wide awake, only grins, “Weren't you in college, as well? Shouldn't you be used to studying all night?”

“Oh no, I was a sensible and clever student and worked out the perfect schedule, never had to stay up even one night," which is at least sort of true.

"What a nerd," she huffs, "Let me tell you, you missed out on a lot of fun stuff, like hangovers and bullshitting your way through a paper last minute."

"I know this won't help my case, but I actually enjoyed studying."

"Ouch," she laughs, "That's really sad, dude."

"Yeah, especially considering I probably won't go back, a lot of missed opportunities I guess."

Even though he said it jokingly, Jo's smile is sinking distinctly, "You want to sometimes? Go back I mean."

A few months ago the answer would've definitely been 'yes', but with getting closer to the demon, with dad dying, he hadn't even given it a thought, "I don't know. I guess, sometimes, yes, but then- I don't really see it as an option right now."

"Yeah, sorry that I asked. Stupid question, considering what... Just happened."

"No, it's okay," he says hastily as the look on her face changes from curious to guilty, "Really. What about you?"

"Totally. If things were different, at least. I mean, I really loved it there. I never quite fit in when I was in school, always was the weirdo," he nods since he definitely gets that, "And then I went to college, not because I truly wanted to, but it was just the thing to do, and suddenly nobody cared about where I was from, or my family, or about my 'strange interests'. I had been... Outed in my last year of high school, and it was shit, and I was so scared when I moved, you know, but when I told my friends in college they didn't care about that, either. I was so relieved and grateful."

"Sorry, that that happened to you," he remembers Jasper and how they made out in the school's locker room. What would have happened if anyone had walked in on them? They definitely wouldn't have been supportive, on the contrary, however, Sam had been out of there a few weeks later, Jasper on the other hand would've had to live with the fallout. He hasn't thought about Jasper in ages, he realizes then, and suddenly feels the weird urge to seek him out just to see how he's doing now.

"Yeah, it sucked, but it could have been worse. Those idiots didn't matter," she says it in a bored tone, but he still sees a flicker of pain in her eyes.

"Did Ellen- your mom seems really supportive. I mean, was she always like that?"

"Sure, I think I told her I wanted to marry Belle when I was like ten, and she only shrugged. That's the good thing about the life we're living, you know, nobody cares who you're having sex with."

This is not exactly the way Sam would have put it, not that he thinks most hunters are bigots, but they definitely won't be seen waving a pride flag, either. Instead of voicing that, though, he asks with a raised eyebrow, "Really Belle? She was always kinda boring in my opinion. I totally liked the beast, though, at least when he turned back into his human form."

"Uuh, Sam," she winks, "Not so boring after all, aren't you."

They share some more stories about their time in college then, however nothing too personal or dramatic, just those typical ones everyone probably has to tell about getting drunk and being stupid. When Jo's eyes eventually start to fall shut every few seconds, as well, Sam mindlessly asks, "Why did you leave, though? You didn't finish either, did you?”

"Someone died," she says, the bright smile on her face now bitter, "He was my oldest friend and a hunt went wrong. I was off to college, partying, and he gave his life to protect people from all those monsters. I couldn't... It didn't seem fair."

Sam isn't even surprised, it always begins in death for people like them.

-

They meet a pair of brothers who're like him, dead mother, headaches, visions, abilities - and one of them is a ruthless murderer. "The other wasn't, Sam," Dean growls when they're back in the Impala, "And this guy definitely had issues, this psychic stuff didn't make him go crazy, he already was."

"Max-" Sam objects, but Dean interrupts him right there, "Max was a crazy piece of shit, too, we went over that!"

He's angrier than Sam has seen him in a long time, actually Dean seemed nearly content for the last few weeks, and Sam gets it, hell, this whole thing is terrifying, still Dean's reaction is a little... Drastic.

"You can't deny there's a connection, and we need to try to look at it like it's a normal case-"

"But it's not a normal case! You're not them! And I don't care whatever shit a fucking demon tries to pull, I won't let it!"

"I just say we need to be prepared for-" (“ _I have plans for you_ ,” the demon said.)

"The fuck we need to be prepared! It's not gonna happen, Sam. You're a damn angel, couldn't hurt a fly, now shut up about this." And before Sam can say another word Dean turns the music up and looks stoically onto the road ahead. It doesn't help with the panic Sam's feeling, not at all, especially not since the words Dean said when he was forced to tell the truth still echo in his mind, "Sometimes I'm scared of Sam, scared of the things he might be capable of."

-

Every other day he gets an email from Jo. After they had worked the case together she decided to keep on hunting, against Ellen's will as it seems, and now keeps Sam updated via ratings of the various motels she stays in - " _Spotless, nearly felt uncomfortable even. The wallpaper is a crime against humanity, though. I'll take a picture for you._ "

It's nice to stay in regular contact with her (with a person outside his family, his brother), still he isn't too happy about her hunting, either. Not that he doesn't think she's capable of doing this job, her being on her own for the most part only feels like a stupid risk. He definitely won't tell her that, though, afraid she'll shut him out like she seemingly did with her mother, and instead he tells her to give them a call whenever she needs them. In the end she only does it now and then when she needs help with research, and even though Dean always bitches loudly over the extra work he only tells Sam to screw off when he suggests he can do it on his own.

-

He throws his bag onto the bed with more force than strictly necessary, grabs a clean shirt and underwear, ready to lock himself into the bathroom and don't come out for preferably the rest of the night. “Can we talk about this?” Dean asks somewhere behind him.

“I don't know what else there's to talk about,” Sam growls, his hands painfully tighten around the fabric.

“Oh come on, what was I supposed to do, huh? Dad just died, and you ran around pretending you two were best friends. Would've been a great idea to tell you, 'You know what, Sammy, the guy you suddenly decided you liked after all, told me I might need to kill you right before he died. Want to grab some burgers?' Yeah, that's really would've gone down well.”

He turns around then, finds Dean still standing in the threshold, bags fallen to his feet, and seemingly as angry as Sam is. “That was _months_ ago, you're really telling me you never once thought that I might need to know that? Like maybe a few weeks ago when we met those guys who had _abilities like me_ , and, oh yeah – one of them was a killer! You never thought about mentioning that dad knew what would happen to me?!”

“This is exactly why I haven't told you anything! I knew you'll take it the wrong way-”

“The wrong way? What's the right way to take dad telling you to kill me?”

“I don't know okay!” Dean shouts, and adds a little calmer, “You think this didn't fuck me up? That I can't stop thinking about why he thought this was the right thing to tell me right before he _died_. Fuck! I don't have a fucking idea what this all means. We know this demon did something, and some people use these abilities to kill people and others don't, _you_ don't. But if I'd told you, I knew you'd think it means you'll crazy yourself, and this won't happen.”

It's frustrating, the way Dean stubbornly refuses to admit that Sam might very well turn into a monster, no matter what they'll do, however, he's not up for this talk, not again, so he says instead, “I'm just disappointed, Dean. I don't know, I just thought that we could trust each other, that we would tell each other important stuff like that.”

“You little asshole,” Dean huffs, grabs the six-pack beer he bought earlier, takes one and puts the rest on the small table that's standing in the middle of the room, “You're the last person who's allowed to talk about 'trust' and 'telling each other things'. You never _once_ mentioned you were going to leave to fucking Stanford.”

Taken aback by this change of topic Sam shakes his head, “You can't compare that-”

“Why not huh?” Dean asks and takes a large gulp of his beer, “You left me, Sam! And you never even thought about telling me beforehand. I didn't tell you about what dad said to protect you, you didn't tell me about Stanford because you didn't give a damn about me!” Another gulp, the bottle now halfway empty, Dean's voice considerably louder again when he goes on, “All my life I was told to take care of you, and that's what I did, and then dad just says 'You know what, fuck that, just kill Sam'. And then he dies, to save me, and I'm left behind, and am supposed to make sense of that. Fuck! So, don't tell me anything about trust, just don't, okay.” He sinks down onto one of the chair that creaks dangerously under his weight, and empties the beer just to open another one.

“That's not true,” Sam says after a few seconds of silence, “I didn't- I _cared_ about you,” (too much), “I _do_ care about you, I just- I needed to get out of there, and I knew if I... I was just too scared to tell you.” (He was scared of the possibility of Dean asking him to stay, because he _knew_ he wouldn't even bet an eye before he'd say yes. He would say yes to _anything_ Dean asks of him.)

“Well, fucking great for you, you got to do what you've wanted. I'm really happy for you.”

There's so much venom in his voice that Sam nearly flinches, “You never wanted to go to college, all you ever wanted was to drive across the country and hunt!”

“I wanted to do that _with you_!” Dean immediately looks like he regrets saying it, and takes his eyes off Sam to stare at the bottle in his hand.

“I'm sorry,” Sam says in a low tone, suppressing the desire to go over to Dean, to take his hand, to hug him, anything, “This life wasn't- I needed to get out, I really did. But I never wanted to _leave_ _you_. I thought about telling you, about asking you to come with me, but I couldn't.” (He knew it wasn't fair, he knew Dean would say no.)

“Whatever,” Dean mumbles, now picking at the label and still not looking into Sam's direction, “Forget what I've said.”

Sam doesn't want to, he wants to make it alright instead, wants to make everything alright again. If he never left, Jess wouldn't have died, maybe he wouldn't even have gotten these visions, dad would probably still be alive, and Dean wouldn't look that _sad_ right now. However, there is no way to fix all of this, and especially not by a few simple words, so Sam grabs his clothes in defeat. “I'm gonna grab a shower.”

“Yeah sure.”

After he closed the door to the bathroom behind himself he suddenly feels tears welling up, and he bites his bottom-lip to fight them. He isn't successful.

-

When he leaves the bathroom Dean is gone, only left a note that's lying on the table right next to the beer, “ _Taking a walk._ ” It's probably a euphemism for “getting drunk in a bar”, the Impala is still standing in the parking-lot, though, so Sam doesn't need to worry. (Well, of course he does anyway.) He turns the TV on since he doesn't bear to be alone with his thoughts right now, then turns it off again once those unfamiliar voices make it even worse. After some useless pacing he finally strips and lies down in his bed, hoping he's exhausted enough to fall asleep. Of course, he's still too riled up, and now that the anger finally subsided he's able to really think about what has happened.

 _Dad told Dean he might need to kill him._ It feels like the worst thing his father ever did to them, the worst betrayal, not the fact that he thought Sam might be needed to be taken out (it's not like this hasn't crossed his mind before, it's not like Sam hasn't promised himself he'd put an end to it all if he ever killed someone with his powers), but that he decided to tell _Dean,_ and not Sam himself. There is no crueler way to say goodbye, the way Dean stood heartbroken in front of him is the best proof to that, and Sam suddenly wonders if that's why dad asked him whether Dean has ever abused him. Did he think Dean wouldn't be able to kill his little brother if he not just took care of him all his life, but if he had sex with him, as well? Or was it Sam's answer that might have revealed his true feelings and convinced John that his youngest son had to die? With a sick feeling in his stomach Sam rolls to the side and tries to concentrate on anything but that.

Dean comes back three hours later, waking Sam from his half-sleep, and immediately disappears inside the bathroom for a quick shower before he slips under his covers. Following an instinct Sam gets up and takes the few steps separating their beds. For a second he hesitates then he lies down next to his brother.

“Sam,” Dean whispers, and it nearly sounds like a protest.

“Just tonight. Please.” He's afraid Dean will tell him off, send him back to his own bed again, doesn't know how he's supposed to live with the rejection.

There's a sigh coming from Dean. “Make some room you oaf,” he grumbles, yet it sounds sort of affectionate.

Relieved, Sam rolls onto his side, and a second later Dean's arms sling around his body, pulling him in close. He missed this, God, he missed this so fucking much he can't stop himself from sighing in content. Dean's warm and solid behind him, the skin of his chest pressed against the skin of Sam's back. It's perfect. He places his hands on Dean's arms, holds them tight as if to stop his brother from letting go.

"Sam," it's barely more than a whisper, yet the brush of air against his neck sends a shiver down his spine. If Dean feels it, he doesn't comment, instead he pushes his nose into Sam's hair, lingers there.

For a moment Sam wants to apologize for what he said earlier, wants to tell Dean that he understands, that he's sorry that Dean had to keep this secret for so long, however, he doesn't want to ruin this, couldn't stand to drive Dean away again, so he stays silent.

It doesn't take long for him to fall back into the state of half-sleep he was in when Dean came home, and he's about to drift off entirely when Dean says, "I won't stop you from going back to college."

At first, Sam's convinced he did fall asleep after all, but this definitely isn't a dream (he only ever dreams of Dean dying, not of him being in his arms), and the only answer he can think of is, "What?"

"I know you want to find the demon, but when we've killed it... I won't stop you from going back."

A horrible thought starts to spread in his mind, Dean _wants_ him to go back. Well, it's understandable isn't, there is something wrong with Sam, so wrong that their father even told Dean he might need to kill him. There's no way to know he'll be fixed just because the demon is dead, so of course Dean wouldn't want Sam anywhere near him. "Why... Why are you telling me that?"

"The other day when we worked the case with Jo I heard you talking, you were sharing stories about college and, well, it seemed like you missed it."

He wonders what else Dean heard that night, it doesn't really matter now, though, so he takes a deep and says, "There are moments that I miss, people who I miss, but couldn't go back, not after everything that has happened." (He left Dean once, he isn't strong enough to do it a second time.)

"We'll find a way to make your record vanish, or we get you a new identity," Dean suggests as if that's what Sam meant.

"Do you want me to go?" Sam asks before Dean can come up with another way to indirectly tell him he wants him to leave.

"I just want you to know I won't force you to stay." It's said hesitantly and it neither a yes nor a no, so Sam decides to take a chance, "I don't want to go back. I want to do this job, with you. As long as it what you want, as well?"

"I told you earlier what I wanted, Sammy," Dean replies, seemingly relieved, "Nothing has changed."

-

They're after what seems to be a werewolf and the guy who found the victim gets stalked by his ex who had a motive to kill the man. Back in college Sam had a friend whose ex was a stalker, as well, and it got gradually worse until he attacked and hit her. It was only pure luck that someone saw and called the cops and Sam definitely won't let something like that happen again. “I think I should stay with him until we're sure it wasn't his ex or, you know, we killed him.” When Dean only raises his eyebrow he adds, “Matthew could be the next victim, we can't risk him dying.”

For a moment it seems like Dean wants to object, but then he shrugs, “Yeah, you're probably right, I see what I can find on the crazy ex, and then I'll camp outside his flat, I guess.”

“Okay, great.”

“Oh, and Sam,” Dean says a little strained when he's about to get into the Impala, “Don't do anything that I wouldn't do.”

Sam's too shocked by that to come up with something clever to say, or anything at all for that matter, and so he watches Dean drive off silently. Matthew's a good-looking guy, sure, and he might have smiled at him a little more than he would usually while they interrogate someone, okay, and it seemed like the man was kinda flirting with him, but he would've never thought that Dean had picked up on any of that. It makes him weirdly uncomfortable, this is not the right time to give it more thoughts, though, so he only takes a slightly shaky breath and turns around to tell Matthew he's getting police protection for the night.

Turns out they're getting along rather well, and Sam certainly didn't imagine things when he thought Matthew was flirting with him. They watch a movie, and it's fun, and Sam finds himself laughing more than he did in a very long time. He isn't even too surprised when Matthew leans in and kisses him just after the credits began to roll. Taking into account that he's pretending to be a cop he probably should stop him, but it's been over a year since he kissed someone, didn't do anything more than that since Jess, so he's not really thinking clear here.

“Sorry,” Matthew says breathlessly after a few seconds, “That was stupid.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees and leans in again, anyway.

They end up blowing each other on the couch and only then Sam fully realizes how much he missed this, all of this, the touch, the smell, the feeling of losing yourself, being close to someone, given pleasure as you receive it. After, Matthew goes to bed with a smug grin on his face and promises Sam pancakes for breakfast. For a moment he feels guilty because he's sitting here, debating whether he should suggest a taking a shower together in the morning while Dean's out there, hunting a werewolf. However, it's not like Sam isn't doing his job just because he had sex with the guy he's protecting.

-

When it's done Sam wants to find himself a hole to crawl in and never come out again, he won't be getting any rest for a while, though, since there's still a body, _Matthew_ , they need to take care of. He feels the bile rising in his throat and barely makes it to the bathroom before he pukes up whatever is left of last night's dinner. Dean is suddenly there, handing him a towel and a glass of water, and then they're going back to work.

They wrap Matthew's body into several sheets, rub the place of all the signs that they were ever here, and make sure no one's watching them when they make their way to the Impala. After a few hours drive, that felt like an eternity, they find an isolated place to bury the body. Sam initially wanted to burn Matthew, but Dean rightfully said that it's harder to burn a body without anyone noticing than to bury it, so they find a meadow and begin to dig. Dean asks whether he wants to say anything when they're finally done, and Sam only shakes his head because what is there left to say, he put a bullet into the guy's head after he had sex with him.

Back at the Impala they scrub the trunk clean and then Dean gets into the driver's seat, and Sam falls down next to him, suddenly so exhausted that he falls asleep immediately. He doesn't know how much time has passed when Dean shakes him awake, but it's dark outside, and they're parked in front of a motel.

Finally, in their room Sam showers quickly, scrubbing away the dirt and blood, and then crawls into his bed. Dean says something he doesn't understand over the rushing noise in his ears and then Dean's there with him, damp from a shower Sam didn't realize he took.

“It's alright, Sammy,” Dean whispers as he wraps himself around him, “Everything is going to be alright.”

He turns around, presses his face against Dean's chest, wants to hide there, stay there forever. _I killed him, Dean_ , he wants to say, _I killed him because he had a monster inside him, I did what you will have to do to me._ No word is leaving his lips, though, instead there's a pathetic, little sound, dangerously close to a sob. He bites his tongue, hard, then swallows down the tears and concentrates on Dean instead, on his familiar smell, his hands on Sam's skin, his body, warm and solid and shielding him from all the bad in the world. It's nearly enough to make him feel okay again.

-

Jo calls three days later, greeting him overly cheerfully, and before he can say much more than, “Hi, Jo,” Dean's says, “Oooh, Jo, what a nice surprise, I'll go to- You know- grab some food.” He clearly tries to sound surprised and overdoes it so much that he only hurriedly leaves their room when Sam raises his eyebrow in suspicion.

“It's so nice to hear from you,” Jo exclaims.

“Did Dean tell you to call?” Sam sighs.

There's a short pause, then, “Yeah... but I wanted to anyway.”

That seems unlikely, considering their conversations take place exclusively over email expect when there's a crucial question about a case. “How much did he tell you?”

“Look Sam, he seemed worried. He just wants to help, he didn't-”

“No, it's alright,” Sam interrupts her, “I'm not pissed.” He understands it, actually. They spent the major part of the last days driving and unsuccessfully looking for a new hunt, all the while not talking more than a few necessary words, which was mostly Sam's fault whose answers to Dean's questions consisted of two words at best.

“He just said a hunt ended badly,” Jo says, speaking in her normal tone now without the forced cheerfulness, “And that you took it hard.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees, “But- I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Sure, totally fine! I just wanted to check in, let you know that you can call me whenever, about whatever.”

It's so sincere and sweet that Sam involuntarily starts to smile. It's been a long time since he had someone besides Dean, and Bobby maybe, who cared about him. Cared enough to check in and let him know that, at least. “Thanks, Jo. I really appreciate it. And you can call me whenever about whatever, as well, you know that, right.”

He hears a small laugh over the line. “'Course. So, you want to hear about this crazy-ass ghost I hunted last week? You _won't_ believe what it did to those poor people living in that apartment complex!”

-

It's weekend, at least Sam's pretty sure it is considering how cramped the shithole Dean has dragged him to is. They're kinda short on cash, which they are always to be honest, and Dean's initial goal was to change that, however he's still sitting next to Sam at the bar, both of them currently on their fourth beer. Sam's definitely not complaining, though, they've just finished a case without anyone getting hurt and therefore are in particularly high spirits. They more or less talk for the hell of it and Sam enjoys it, the two of them just spending time with each other, having fun, nearly like it had been _before_. (Before yellow-eyed demons, and vision, and dead girlfriends and fathers, before Sam left.) Dean seems to enjoy himself as much, and so Sam doesn't understand what it is that makes the look on Dean's face change from carefree to thoughtful in the span of a few seconds. Then, after finishing his beer and clearing his throat, he says, “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

The way he hesitates while speaking makes Sam instantly feel a lot less drunk than a few seconds ago. There are a couple of things he could imagine Dean asking him, none of which Sam wants to give an answer too. Nervously, he empties his own beer and precautionary orders another round. The fact that Dean tells the barkeeper to throw in some shoots, as well, doesn't help with Sam's nervousness the slightest. “What is it?”

“I'm really not- fuck, I don't know how to do that,” Dean groans, then after a short pause, “When we were... still living together, you told me that you're- that you thought you liked boys more than girls, and I was- whatever. Well, and then I saw you again and you and Jess were together, and I wanted to ask about that, but dad was missing and then she- the fire, and I kinda forgot about it. And then... Matthew, I saw the way you looked at each other and what he said before he- I just don't get it, you know.”

He spoke the last few words so hurriedly that Sam has trouble understanding them all, what Dean's asking is still clear, though. Frankly, Sam's surprised this talk didn't happen earlier, ever since he saw the confused look in Dean's eyes when he met Jess he waited for his brother to grill him on that topic. Besides the drunken “aren't you supposed to be gay” line Dean spat at him a few months ago there hasn't been anything even pointing in that direction, though, and while it doesn't sound nearly as insulting as it did back then, Sam still gets defensive, “What are you asking Dean? Do you want to call me-”

“Hey, no! I'm just wondering, okay,” Dean interrupts him, cheeks turning slightly pink. The barkeeper places their drinks in front of them, and Dean immediately goes for the shot and gulps it down without any hesitation. “I'm not trying to... I know I reacted kinda bad, back then when you told me.”

“You were an ass about it,” Sam corrects him.

“Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry. I was just con- alright I was shocked 'cause it never crossed my mind, but it doesn't mean that I cared or that I... When I came to Stanford I expected to meet your boyfriend, that's all.”

Now, it's Sam who sighs and throws back his shot. He never really talked about it with anyone, not even Jess, she knew that he had been with guys, sure, but she never really cared, so he never had to _explain_ it. However, Dean really sounds curious, and sorry for the way he reacted when Sam came out to him, so it would be hardly fair to say he doesn't want to talk about it, would it. “I still like men more than women, and I didn't think I ever get a girlfriend, either. But then I met Jess and we just instantly- it just clicked. I don't know, maybe I'm bisexual, or I'm gay and Jess was an exception. Anyway, I don't think it really matters, not to me at least.”

“When you say- Why do you prefer in men?” Dean's whole face is now bright red, and yet he makes an effort to sound causally.

It might be due to alcohol that makes his mind sort of fuzzy, but Sam's definitely enjoying the way Dean's embarrassed, yet seemingly so curious that he can't stop himself from asking. It's just that his brother never shied away from anything regarding sex, hell, he gave Sam _the talk_ when he was ten and Dean fourteen, without getting red once. From there it only went downhill, he pointed out especially nice tits and asses where-ever they went, and when Sam was older he even told him about every “blow job to remember” he had received. (Sam hated it, he couldn't stand imagining those girls when all he wanted was to sink down to his knees himself.) This here and now feels like the perfect opportunity to get back at him. “Just, you know, their _bodies_. I like it when my partner is tall and strong, sure, women can be that, as well, but it's not quite the same. I like muscles, hard chest, feeling a stubble or beard when I kiss someone. And getting blown by someone who has a dick is just better, you know, they instantly know what to do, what you like.”

Dean visibly swallows and for a second Sam's sure he's gone too far, but then, “What it's like... blowing someone?”

There's a voice somewhere deep inside of Sam's head, warning him to shut up, however, it's easily overheard, “It was strange, at first, uncomfortable even. Then I stopped thinking and just tried to _feel,_ _and_ it was great. Being full, taking what you're getting while you try to breathe around it, a hand in your hair pulling you in closer.”

Dean looks at him nearly dazed, his hand so tight around his bottle of beer that his knuckles are white and prominent, “Did you miss it while you were with Jess?”

It should be a cruel question, but somehow it doesn't feel this way, maybe because it clearly isn't intended to be. And the truth is, yes, he did. It's horrible, Jess was perfect, in every way, and Sam's never known a better person, and yet the sex was never quite satisfying. (Jess was perfect, she just wasn't what he wanted.) “I did,” he says eventually. (He missed having a cock in his mouth, even though it only ever was _one_ cock he truly wanted.)

Later, he'll blame it entirely on the alcohol, but at this moment his mind is foggy with how much it's consumed by the thoughts of sex while his brother sitting so close to him. Dean, with his lips parted, cheeks ever so slightly flushed, knees brushing against Sam's, asking about what it's like to give a blow-job. “You ever thought about fucking a guy?” He speaks those words before they've fully formed inside his head, and he immediately regrets it.

There's a spark in Dean's eyes, and his hand holding the bottle visibly flinches. Sam's already tensing in exception to a first meeting his nose, but instead he hears a single word, spoken hoarsely, “ _Yes_.”

For a few seconds none of them says anything, they merely stare at each other, and Sam has never felt that _seen_ before. “I have to take a piss,” Dean exclaims all of a sudden and disappears into the restroom.

Sam considers running then, scolding himself for his recklessness, afraid that he revealed what he's hiding for all those years now. Right when he's on the verge of panicking Dean's back, looking as carefree as he did before he decided to question Sam on his sexuality. He makes a stupid joke Sam doesn't get and laughs at anyway, and they fall back into their previous, sex-free talk from earlier. It's only sort of awkward, and even that's forgotten after the fifth round of shots.

-

"So, what was it like? Your life?" Sam asks hesitantly, not sure if he should do it at all. His brother sits next to him on his own bed, eyes halfway closed in exhausted, clothes and skin still dirty from their fight against the djinn.

Dean sighs, it's sounds nearly painful, "Mom was there. She never- never died. And she was happy. Dad had died a few years back, but it wasn't a hunt, just a stroke, and mom- she was really happy," for a moment there is a small smile on Dean's lips and a dreamy look in his eyes, then it's gone as soon as it came, "I worked in a garage, had a nice girlfriend, and you- you were still at Stanford, with Jess, you had just proposed. It was all very boring, but good, I guess, a good life."

"Why- why didn't you stay?" He's not sure whether he really wants to hear the answer, but somehow he needs to know.

"It wasn't real, I knew it wasn't real, and... All those people we've saved, dad saved, they were dead."

"They weren't real, either," Sam objects.

"No, they weren't," Dean huffs, "Still felt like shit. And we... You and I didn't get along. At all."

"What happened?" Sam asks, voice thin.

"Dunno, nothing, I was just a bad brother," Sam shakes his head in confusion, but Dean doesn't seem to see it, and adds, "I wonder... Do you think it would be like that if mom never died? If we had 'a normal childhood', whatever that's supposed to be."

"No," Sam says with a humorless laugh because this is ridiculous, really, "I've known you all my life, Dean, there is no way in hell you could ever be 'a bad brother'. Besides, just because we were fighting or whatever, doesn't mean we wouldn't have made up, eventually." (And no matter the circumstances, he can't imagine himself not wanting everything and more from Dean.)

"Yeah, sure," Dean grumbles, yet he seems somewhat more relaxed, "Gonna take a shower, you better have some beer in the fridge when I'm done, definitely need it tonight."

"Jerk," Sam calls after him. He immediately gets up to drive to the next store, though.

-

When the demon finally comes for him Sam is, above all, relieved. He wakes up in a crazy survival game with other people who're just like him, and while it's horrible, and he's scared he'll never get out of this, at least the waiting is over. For over a year there was always the nagging question on his mind what's going to happen to him and _why_ , now he's eventually got an answer.

“Oh, look at us, Sammy! Already friends back then,” the demon laughs in his ear. Sam is transfixed, starts at his six months old self, sees the demon's blood drop into his mouth, sees himself drinking it all up as if it's milk.

“Stop that!” he growls.

“But it already happened,” mom comes into the room, screams, and with a snap of its fingers the demon lets the pictures, _the memory_ , disappear, “And it explains so much, doesn't it. The way you never fit in, why you always felt different, why you have those powers, those _desires_.”

Sam feels sick because it's true, it all suddenly makes sense (why he has those feelings for his _brother_ , why he wants things no one ever should want from a sibling), and starts to tremble with the need to kill the thing that destroyed his life, that still does that.

The demon disappears then, not without giving Sam a last winning grin, and, no, he won't let him win, not this time. Taking a deep breath he pushes the thoughts and the sick feeling aside, only concentrates on getting out of this.

The others die one by one until just him and another man are left. When the guy refuses to work together and instead tries to kill him (“It said just one of us is getting out of this, and I'm sorry, but it's not you. But I promise, I'll find and kill it.”), Sam knocks him out, and it's in exact that moment that Dean shows up. He's so relieved, so fucking relieved and happy because he was afraid he'd die here without ever seeing his brother's stupidly beautiful face ever again.

“Sam!” Dean shouts, and too late he realizes that it's a warning.

He feels the knife between his ribs, cold and hard, however, there's no pain, and before he can wonder about that everything turns to black. Then he dies.

  
  



	4. season three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ignored _Mystery Spot_ since this episode covers about year and would've been a 5k chapter on its own, so yeah, didn't really want to do that lol.  
> There are brief mentions of suicidal thoughts on Sam's part, if you need more info, let me know.

Time seems to stop the moment Sam finally realizes what has happened. (How could he have been so blind? Again. The knife, the pain, the darkness, then waking up and feeling fine, and no scar. No fucking scar where is guts should be hanging out.) He blinks, slowly, looks at his brother, his beautiful, stupid, asshole of a brother. His eyes seem to say, 'Don't do it, Sam. Don't ask. Let's just pretend a little while longer.' And he wants to do that, he wants nothing more than to go back to the ignorant bliss of the last few days, let his brother's words lull him into another bogus safety.

"How long?" Because that's all it narrows down to, there is no point in asking if it's true, no point in pleading for it all to be merely a nightmare he could wake up from.

"One year." It's like a punch, so forceful that it pushes the air out of his lungs. _Ten_ , you make a deal with a demon, and you get _ten years_ , not one. One year is nothing, it not _enough_ \- "Why? Why did you do it?"

Dean huffs like the answer is obvious, "I couldn't let you stay dead. I couldn't. And if that's what it takes then so be it."

Dean doesn't say it, but those words hang between them, unspoken and loud all at once, ' _You would've done the same_ '. And of course Sam would've.

-

Time flies then because after you left your childhood behind, you realize that a year is _nothing_ , and it's even less when death waits for you at the end of it. Sam doesn't remember ever feeling this helpless before, and matters are only made worse by the fact that Dean refuses to acknowledge what's on the line for him.

"Deal is a deal, Sammy, no getting out on this one. Might just enjoy the time I got left." And enjoying he does; he's drunk more nights than not and fucks every woman who just smiles at him, all the while Sam's desperately searching for a way out. However, it's not that easy, this time it's not his body that's failing Dean, instead the fire's of hell are waiting to swallow him whole, no matter which road he'll take, and no faith healer nor grim reaper can do a damn thing about it.

-

They go back to working cases as if nothing has happened, as if they're not two dead men walking. Whenever Sam argues they should concentrate on finding a solution Dean pulls the “I decide what I'll do with the time I've left”-card, and Sam hates him for it because there is no way he can deny him anything then. Dean will die for him, Dean sacrificed his soul, so he can live, so that he can spend the rest of his days alone, without anyone left (without Dean, without the only person he ever wanted, ever needed), and with the horrible knowledge that it's all his fault. His mother died because of him, and Jess, and dad, and now Dean, as well.

When he's not looking for a way to get Dean out of his contract, and he's certain that no one will walk in on him, he's reading everything about demons, and blood, and monsters that were born human, and stolen children, _anything_ that comes close to what the Yellow-Eyes has done to him, but he finds nothing. The visions have stopped, he isn't sure whether it's due to his own or the demon's death, though, and he certainly doesn't fool himself into thinking it means he's suddenly fixed. There's something wrong with him, he's always known that (he wants to fuck his own brother, that should be all the proof anyone needs), and now he at least can put his finger on the _why_.

“You know what you're called down there,” Ruby (no, not _Ruby_ , not a woman, but a demon who claims it wants to help them) tells him when they're alone, “'The boy king of hell', and I must say, I'm not disappointed, now that I met the real deal.”

She's probably fucking with him, yet Sam doesn't mention this meeting when Dean comes back a few hours later, doesn't dare to. Dean already has to live with the prospect of being dead in less than a year, he doesn't need the added weight of knowing that he gave his soul away for his not quite human, freak of a brother. Besides, Sam won't let him die, he _won't_.

-

Dean doesn't sleep anymore, at least he doesn't when he can prevent it. Drinking seems to help since when he had a certain amount of whiskey, or whatever liquor he can get his hands on, he just passes out for a few hours before he jerks awake again, just to immediately gulp down ridiculous amounts of coffee. The nights he doesn't drink, which get fewer and farther in-between (and Sam thinks he should be alarmed by that, but that's the least of his worries, at the moment) Dean spends sitting in a chair, watching movies on Sam's old laptop, visibly fighting his body from falling asleep.

Those nights Sam wants to get up, put his hand around Dean's wrist and drag him to bed. They don't share it anymore, again, and again they didn't talk about it. He hates it, misses the warm, reassuring presence of his brother whenever he lies down, but somehow the alternative is even worse. Having Dean's body next to his own, breathing and alive, touching him, feeling Dean's skin under his hands, smelling him, it's nothing but a reminder to the fact that he won't be able to do this soon. This thought makes him want to run as much as it makes him want to bury his face in Dean's chest and never let him go again.

He wonders whether Dean thinks and feels the same, that being close to Sam makes him realizes what a horrible mistake he made, whether he feels more dead than alive when they're close to each other.

-

A case brings them into a town Dean apparently spent some time in when he had just dropped out of school and dad began to take him along more and more often. Sam remembers that particular hunt, not because was involved in any way, he didn't even have to help with the research like he normally would have, but because Dean was gone unusually long. Dean called every night to promise that everything was fine, and he would be back soon, and yet Sam got more and more anxious with every passing day, in the end feeling like he wasn't even able to get enough air into his lungs most of the time. (Then, Sam couldn't imagine to not hear his brother's voice for more than a few days, to not see him for more than a few, horribly endless weeks. However, fours years later it was Sam who left and didn't reach out even once. It was probably the hardest and worst thing he's ever done.)

When Dean finally came home he was weirdly silent and moody and refused to talk about what had happened, he went back to his normal cocky self in the matter of a month, though, and Sam has nearly forgotten about it. However, he remembers it all when Dean casually tells him he had a girlfriend in this town and would like to meet with her, and the moment Sam sees the two of them together he realizes that his brother for once really means more by the word “girlfriend” than “had sex with her three times”.

Jealousy is an ugly thing, especially since Sam's isn't used to it. He can't say he likes it when Dean fucks around, yet it's still always that – fucking around. The way he looks at Lisa, though, and she seems to melt under his gaze, might not exactly scream “love”, but it's on the best way of getting there. And Sam hates it, can't stand to witness them being all dopey-eyed around each other, and especially can't stand sheer Lisa's presences because she's an actually likeable and kind person, and she would be fucking good for his brother. And there's the son who's looking up to Dean and who Dean beams at like he's the most precious thing in the world, and even that kid is nicer than any kid his age has the right to be.

The worst thing, however, is the realization that Dean won't ever have children on his own, that he won't get a chance on a normal life nor a relationship since everything turned to shit because of Sam, and now Dean will even go to hell for him. And Dean would've loved to be a dad, even though he always refused to admit to it, and fuck, he would've been great at it, as well.

So, after Dean said his goodbyes, and they're back at the motel to pack their stuff and leave, Sam does, for once, the right thing. “You could stay, you know,” he says.

Dean, who was just about to throw his dirty clothes into one of their bags, stops mid-motion, “What did you say?”

“You could stay with Lisa and Ben,” Sam swallows, forces himself to keep going, “I saw the way you looked at each other and she... You both could be happy together.”

“I might have forgotten to mention it,” Dean says dryly and continues throwing socks into the bag, “But I'll be dead a few months from now.”

“And you should... you should do what you want in those- I'll keep searching for a way out, I'll _find_ a way out, but if I don't- Fuck, you said it yourself, you were falling in love with her, you still are, and she feels the same. You really want to drive around, hunting monsters when you finally got a shot at a normal, happy life?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I want to do,” Dean hisses, shoulders the bag and walks to the door, “Now, come on.”

“Dean-”

“What?” he turns around again, looks at Sam with an angry spark in his eyes, “You can't wait to get rid of me? Just ten months left, don't worry, I might-”

“You know it's not that!” Sam objects.

“What is it then, huh? It damn well sounds like you want to set me up with the next best chick you can find to drop me off in bump-fuck-nowhere.”

“She's not just some 'chick'. You wanted to stay back then, now you get the chance.”

“I was barely eighteen then! I was stupid and she was stupid, too. It's what you do when you're hardly grown up and think you're an adult; you fall in love and forget about the world around you. But that's not how it works, and I'm not that person anymore, and she's neither. I'm not leeching my way back into her life just to die on her a few months later. It's bad enough I'm doing that to you,” the last few words are hardly more than a whisper.

“Dean-” he tries again, but is again interrupted.

“Leaving in five, you can stay here yourself if you want to.”

-

“You need to promise me something,” Bobby says with hard eyes and unusual grave voice, “First sign there's something wrong with you, that something changed, you tell me.”

“ _Me”_ not “ _your brother”_ and Sam gets it, Dean refused time and time again to kill him if it ever came down to it, hell, he even refused to let Sam stay dead, yet there seems to be something Sam's missing. “Why are you saying that? Why now?”

For a moment it seems like Bobby will just turn around and let him stand there, confused and anxious, but then he shakes his head. “What's dead is usually supposed to stay dead, we shouldn't risk anything.”

When he came back and stood in front of Bobby for the first time, still blissfully unaware of what has happened, he saw the flash of something in his eyes, something he couldn't put a name on and yet made him uneasy. Now, however, he realizes what it was; Bobby wants him gone, wants him to be dead again, regrets that he didn't stop Dean from making that deal. It's the same thing Sam wants, it is, still it hurts.

-

“Goddammit, will you finally stop it!”

Sam flinches, startled by the sudden outburst. Until this moment he was staring out of the window, taking the passing trees and fields in, trying to only concentrate on that and the low music, and not on this one, ever present thought that makes his insides cramp together. So, all in all he didn't really do anything to annoy anyone, least of all Dean who sat beside him just as quietly. “Stop what?”

“This refusing to talk or even look at me act. It's fucking insufferable, you're not a whiny kid anymore,” Dean practically spits out.

Instinctively, Sam wants to object that he clearly isn't doing that, and he's certainly not acting like a _whiny kid_ , thank you very much, however, he can't deny that he's indeed avoiding to look at Dean whenever he doesn't have to. It's not so much because he's mad, though, but because the only thing that's on his mind when he sees his brother's face is, “nine months.” Dean will be dead in nine months and his soul will burn in hell. “Sorry, that I'm not able to pretend like everything is _fine,_ ” he finally says

“Well, you better start to, 'cause it's not really possible to enjoy your last months when your brother is sulking all the time,” Dean growls and all of a sudden Sam is furious. “Fuck you, Dean! You're not getting to play the victim here! I never asked for this, any of that! You remember how dad died, and you felt like shit because you thought it was your fault? Congrats, you did the same thing to me, just that I get to watch you die, as well!”

“Oh come on, not that again-”

“Yes, that again! Because that's what I'm living with every day, and I get to be a ' _whiny kid'_ as much as I want to, you fucking asshole. I would put I bullet in my head just to get it all back to how it's supposed to be, but you idiot sold your soul, and it won't even make a difference-”

“Don't you dare!”

“What kill myself? Sell my soul, so you can live, like _you did_ ,” Sam huffs.

“Yes, you won't do that. Period. It wouldn't even work, it hardly gave me the deal, whatever you call would laugh in your face if you'd try to make another one.”

“Yeah? Try me.”

Suddenly, Sam gets thrown forward, the seatbelt cutting into his chest, and it takes him a second to realize that Dean decided to bark in the middle of the road, way harder than necessary. Thankfully, the highway they're currently on is as empty as they can get, yet Sam wouldn't be surprised if that stunt gave one of them a whiplash. “What-”

“Now, listen to me,” Dean hisses, his hands fisted into the front of Sam's shirt, “You won't do a thing to get me out of that contract. Not now, not when I'm dead, not ever. I made my choice, and that's that. When I'm gone you gonna keep hunting, or go back to school, or whatever, but you'll have a life, and you will be living it!” He's close, so close that Sam can see every freckle, can count them, if he leaned in a little he could even... But Dean's nearly vibrating with anger and his voice is so full of desperation that Sam does nothing, only stares at him.

“It's not fair,” he whispers when he can't bear the silence anymore. (Can't bear to hear his brother breathe, so loud, and _alive_. And he won't be doing that nine months from now. No, he will, he _will_.)

Dean laughs at that, and if Sam wouldn't know him if he hadn't seen, heard, felt Dean's genuine laugh countless times, he might not have recognized the trace of fear he's trying to hide with it. “Yeah, well, hate to break it down to you, but nothing in our lives is ever fucking fair.”

At least on that they can agree.

-

The thing is, Sam has been confronted with Dean getting severely hurt and nearly dying consistently over the years, and while part of him seemed to cripple down under the prospect of a world without his brother in it, he found solace in the possibility of putting an end to all of this whenever he wanted to. He wouldn't describe himself as suicidal, nor is he sure whether he would be able to get through with it, yet that thought felt comforting, to at least have one last bit of control over his life. However, even that is taken from him now since his death will only put an end to his own suffering and not to Dean's, who's soul is damned for an eternity in hell.

And how could Dean ever expect him to just keep on living his life like that?

-

“Take it as a sign of good will,” Ruby says with a grin when she gives Sam the colt. He could use it on her, try if it truly works, finally get rid of her and her lies. “You won't do it,” she winks as if she just read his thoughts, “Not when there's the possibility of me getting your brother out of this deal. We both know that so let's just skip the threatening, and we'll talk again when you've tried this thing on something else.”

He lets her go then, and regrets it immediately. The colt actually works, though, and he's less surprised than he wants to be. Dean and Bobby are wary, but they're all aware they don't have that many options left, and it's not like they don't have a weapon to kill her when she screws them over, now.

For months all Sam wanted was to get his hands on the colt in order to kill the demon who destroyed his life, now it lies in the trunk of the Impala and the demon is dead, and he never felt that desperate before. And desperation is what drives him to summon the demon Dean made the deal with in the end. Deep down he knows it's useless, that it can't be that easy, and when it confirms his fears and tells him that someone else holds the contract, he kills it anyway, just because he can. Seeing the body sinking to the ground, hearing the thing that once was a soul scream before it disappears into the non-existence, is more satisfying than killing any other monster before ever was, and for a few wonderful moments he nearly forgets that this meeting rather got him further away from finding a way to save his brother than to bring him closer to it.

It takes Dean no hour to figure out what Sam has done, and he's as furious as expected. “I just don't get it,” Sam barks after Dean told him how stupid he is for five minutes straight, “Why are you so eager to get through with this deal? It will fucking _kill you_ if we don't do anything about it!”

“Because if I try to get out of it you'll die, Sam! That was the deal! So, I'm _not_ trying to and neither are you!”

Dean looks at him like it bad fucking news when it's actually the best thing Sam heard in a while, “But that's a way-”

“Don't you fucking dare to even think that!” Dean interrupts him and for the rest of the day he refuses to acknowledge Sam's mere existence.

-

Sam stopped liking Christmas when he was in his first year of school and all the other kids told him about how they're spending those days. It wasn't like he was jealous of all the expansive gifts a made-up man in red brought them, but more than anything he wanted to eat a home-cooked meal with his _family_ , with Dean, dad and mom, grandparents, aunts and uncles... Of course, dad was always hunting, or _working_ like Sam still thought back then, and mom was dead, and there wasn't any other family left, so it had been just Dean and him every year. And it was enough, since Dean was all he ever needed, even when he was still a kid, but it wasn't what he wished for.

When he was sixteen dad took Dean with him to hunt a banshee and Dean promised to be home for Christmas morning, and Sam told him he didn't mind, that it was just another stupid day, and secretly felt like shit. He had a not-quite-yet girlfriend at the time named Callie and when he let it slip that he would spend Christmas Eve on his own her parents insisted on him joying them. The Wrights were the perfect, little family; two kids, a dog, a nice house in the suburbs, steady jobs, and Sam never felt this out of place and yet so weirdly comfortable than he did that night. Mrs. Wright drove him home after they ate and watched movies, packed him a back full of leftover and asked him whether he didn't want to sleep over after all. When he refused she hugged him tight, a slightly worried look on her face he tried to ignore, and for the first time he felt like he came close to the Christmas he had always wanted.

Dean didn't make it home for another three days, and Sam never got together with Callie since they left a few weeks later, the whole family Wright hugged him, though, when he came to say goodbye and asked him to keep in touch. He wrote them a postcard now and then and even called when he was in his first week at Stanford (he felt lonely, so lonely, and he was afraid he made the biggest mistake of his life, and when Mrs. Wright told him she was proud of him he started to cry), however he hadn't been in contact with them for years, hasn't even really thought about them. Now, he feels the strange urge to write them, though, as if this would set anything right.

The thing is, that Christmas he spent at the Wright's was the worst Christmas Sam ever had because for the first time he got a glimpse at what his life could've been, and the happiness he felt that night left him with an aching pain in his chest whenever he thought back to it. Thus, he decided to just ignore that day, and he was really successful with it, at least until now, because it's Dean's _last Christmas_ , and that's the only thing Sam has on his mind, it's even the only thing he thinks about when those two pagan gods pull one out of his fingernails. Six months from now Dean is supposed to die, and they're not one step closer to getting him out of his deal than they were six months ago and Sam's starting to get desperate.

Actually, he wanted to ignore the day like he did those last years, however, it's not working, not just because of their case, but because Dean's suddenly obsessed with celebrating it, and so Sam gets some presents, and eggnog, and even buys stupid fairy-lights, and it's all worth it when Dean returns to their crappy motel-room and smiles like a goddamn child.

It's a nice evening, and yet Sam would do anything to go back to that night he sat, and ate, and laughed with the Wrights, all the while thinking about how much he misses his brother, because being there would mean that Dean's fine, that Dean won't be dead in the course of a few months.

They're sitting on the small couch, close to touch, and the eggnog is starting to cloudy Sam's vision. It feels good, and he drinks more of it, and next to him Dean's beaming, and at some point he throws his arm onto the backrest, right behind Sam. If he'll only sink into the cushion a bit more, his neck would touch Dean's arm and his shoulder would fit right under Dean's armpit. He imagined doing this countless times over the years, the two of them sitting on a couch, huddled together, _cuddling_ , casually (or not-so-casually). He's longing for it now, more than in a while.

Turning his head, he looks into his brother's face, finds him relaxed and beautiful, lips slightly parted, and oh so close. It wouldn't take much to lean in, he could do it, right here, right now. He wants to, desperately, but Dean would push him away (would he?), of course he will (there is no way to be sure). Sam could blame it on the alcohol, though, or say it was a joke, whatever. At least he'll finally know what Dean's lips would feel under his, finally get an answer to the question that haunts him for nearly ten years now. However, giving in would mean admitting defeat, admitting that this might be the last chance he's getting, that there won't be a next Christmas, and a next, _and a next_.

It's a wonderful night, and the worst Christmas Sam's ever had.

-

“Fucking tell me already how we're gonna save him!” He has Ruby taken be the shoulder, shaking her, and it would feel wrong if he didn't remind himself that he won't be leaving bruises since this isn't a human he's clawing his fingers into.

“Don't be so impatient, Sammy,” she smiles, unfazed by his anger, “I'm doing what I can here. It's not like I can undo the mess Dean made with a snap of my fingers.”

He lets go of her, even if it's hard, even if he wants nothing more than punch her until her stolen face is a bloody mess. He needs her, he tried everything he could think of, went after every clue, no matter how small, and still he's got nothing. Of course, she's aware of that, and as soon as he releases her, her smile turns into an ugly sneer. “And what exactly is it that you did until now?” he asks.

“Did you already forgot about the toy I gave you?”

The colt, Sam nearly flinches when she mentions it. They don't have it anymore, carelessly left it behind with Bela who immediately took the chance and stole it, however, he won't tell Ruby that, not when he could still use it to threaten her. “I don't see how it helped with keeping Dean out of hell.”

“Did anyone ever tell you, you're a little obsessed with your brother? Like unhealthy so.”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh, I hit a nerve, didn't I?” she grins, obviously enjoying herself, “Tell me Sammy, did you ever look at your life and thought, 'Maybe I wouldn't be such a miserable idiot if I didn't run after my brother like a pathetic puppy'?”

“It's not-” he starts, and shuts up again since he doesn't need to explain himself to a fucking _demon_.

“It's not like that? What it's like then, wanna get into your brother's pants?” She's clearly joking, yet Sam can't stop himself from flinching, and for a second there's a surprised look on her face before she starts laughing, “If I've only known!”

“I'm leaving,” he growls, face red, and already turning around, “Don't come back until you've got something.”

“I like you more and more every time we meet!” Ruby calls after him.

-

Growing up in such close quarters ultimately means you get to hear and see more things than you're supposed to, and this unfortunately implies a lot of embarrassing stuff, as well. Whereat those stuff is in most cases only mortifying for Sam and rather amusing for Dean, like the time Sam's classmate borrowed him a porn video and Dean came home early, or when he tried to shave those few, weird looking hairs on his chest and Dean stormed into the bathroom and Sam nearly cut off his right nipple because he jumped so hard. Sure, he walked in on Dean making out with some girls, or jerking off, and this _should_ have been embarrassing for Dean, however it was him who just shrugged those incidents off, and Sam who's got turned on by them. He hates to know what his brother's dick looks like when it's hard since now and then (more often than not) when Sam's jerking off himself it's all that's on his mind.

It made him even more cautious to practically hide whenever he needs to get off, though, and it seems to be the same for Dean, at least neither of them walked into the other since they're living together again for nearly two years now. (It still doesn't stop Sam's mind from drifting to _unsafe_ places whenever Dean's taking longer in the shower than usual.) So, it has been years since Sam walked in on his brother, and therefore he's certain he's still asleep and dreaming when he finds himself in a too hard bed one night, the sound of flesh slapping again flesh in his ears.

After a few seconds, though, he dares to take a peak at the bed next to his, and realizes that this isn't a dream at all. (It doesn't matter that the visions have stopped, he still only dreams of blood and death, he's never so lucky to dream of Dean alive. Or naked.) Dean has his back turned to Sam, yet the movement of his arm makes it fairly obvious what he's doing there.

Sam should move, or make some kind of noise, anything to alert his brother that he's awake and listening, he doesn't dare to, though, doesn't _want_ to. Instead, he closes his eyes again and concentrates on taking all the sounds in, all those little gasps that are coming from Dean's lips. They're nearly inaudible and Sam wonders how loud Dean is while being with someone, whether he's holding back like he does now, or whether he's letting go, moaning and gasping loud for his partner to hear. He pictures Dean's hand around his dick, knows from the times he walked in on him that Dean likes to hold himself in a firm grip, jerking hard and efficiently. From the sound of it he's doing it the same way now, trying to reach an orgasm quickly instead of protracting it.

Sam doesn't decide to do it, his hand merely settles on his dick like it got a mind on its own, finding it already hard and desperate for some relief. All these years he never crossed the line, only ever in his head, but this, secretly listening to his brother jerking off while palming his own dick, is definitely not just tiptoeing around it, yet he doesn't stop.

The first stroke feels like he hasn't been touched in years, even though he took care of himself in the shower only yesterday, and his whole body shudders with it. He bites his tongue in order to not make any noise, moves his hand as fast as he dares to, and eagerly listens to Dean.

The sound of his hand working his dick are getting louder, suggesting Dean's jerking himself impossibly fast, and Sam's brain just shuts down with the image. He loses himself in every small pant and groan that's coming from Dean, and the way he's unmistakably getting closer is making Sam dizzy, his own hand too much and not enough all at once around his dick.

Later, he can't say whether he forgot about keeping it quiet in his turned on haste, or whether Dean just felt that something was off, whatever it was, Sam suddenly hears a weird squeaking from the other side of the room. It's not so much a conscious decision as it's an instinct when Sam merely opens his eyes again and find himself face to face with Dean.

The motel-sign in front of their window illuminates the room despite the closed curtains enough to immediately smother any hope that Dean isn't realizing what Sam's doing there. For the split of a second Dean stops the movement of his hand and Sam's positive that this it is, that Dean eventually sees how sick his little brother is, that he'll come over and beat him into a pulp, but before Sam can start to fully panic Dean returns to moving his hand.

At this moment there's nothing else on Sam's mind besides the picture of his brother, face flushed, breath going fast, hand visibly working up and down his dick under that stupid blanket, and Sam wants, and wants, and _wants_... He's coming, fast and unexpected, and so intensively that he can't stop a loud, long moan from leaving his lips. He hasn't quite caught his breath when Dean clearly coming, as well, lips parted in a silent shout and his eyes still fixed on Sam.

It might be seconds or years in which neither of them is moving, then Dean's eyes snap open all of a sudden as if he only now realizes what has happened, and before Sam can even think of something to say, to fix this, Dean is already up and running for the bathroom.

Sam lies on his back, anxiously listening to the noises coming through the closed door, hand and cock still sticky with cum. There is only the flushing of the toilet and running water to be heard, and then Dean's back, visibly avoiding to even look in Sam's direction and lying down, once again facing away.

Sam considers going to the bathroom himself, doesn't dare to, though, afraid if he makes even the smallest noise Dean will demand an answer to what just has happened, after all.

-

When Sam wakes up he feels more tired than he did going to bed the night before, yet he immediately gets up since Dean's still thankfully sleeping soundly. The evidence to what Sam did last night is all over his skin, and he nearly punches his hand against the mirror in anger over himself, he settles for a cold shower, though, since he's already got enough to explain. And that's that the question, isn't it, how can he explain last night without making Dean run away from him? He could say he didn't realize Dean was awake until it was too late, joke about it (but only a little), be embarrassed (but not too much, either). Or he could call Jo and ask her if she stumbled upon a potion that makes a person forget the last few hours or days, then he'd needed to explain what he wants that for, though, so that isn't really an option.

After going over every possible lie he could tell to get himself out of this, thrice, and realizing that one is worse than the other, Sam leaves the bathroom just to find Dean gone.

It takes every ounce of his will to not just fall to the ground to cry like an idiot, and instead focus on how he's going to make this alright again. He's in full-panic-mode when Dean comes back into their room no ten minutes later, holding coffee and breakfast in his hands like it's just any other morning. Sam nearly throw himself on him, then thinks better of it, and says in a horribly awkward way, “Hi.”

“I found us a new case,” Dean announces, and before Sam can ask, “when,” he's already getting the details. So, they're pretending it has never happened, which just fine, more than fine actually, and Sam doesn't even care when the following twelve-hours drive is more than a little strained, he's just too glad that Dean's still with him.

-

For three days straight Sam only thinks about what this all _means;_ Dean got off even though Sam was watching him, even though Sam was getting off himself, and he decided to not ignore that it has happened, or at least is determined to not acknowledge it. The worst case, Dean's furious, but since they're still not any closer to finding a way to get him out off his deal he swallows it down until all of this is over, only to ultimately leave Sam in the end. The best case, however... Sam doesn't dare to think about it, can't get his hopes up, not now when he should be concentrating on anything but this (anything but the way Dean looked when he came, how Sam wanted to get over and kiss him through his orgasm).

Unwanted help to get his thoughts back on track comes in form of Bela calling the cops on them, like stealing the only weapon that could save Dean's life wasn't enough already. Sitting in a small cell, chained to Dean and awaiting their transports into different prisons the next day, Sam is convinced it can't get any worse (he's two minutes away from just shoving his tongue into Dean's mouth because no matter the way he reacts to it, it will still be better than asking himself what could've been for the rest of his days), and then a demon tries to kill them.

It's a fucking invasion, and it's a close call not just once, and then Ruby appears and offers a way out. “We kill the virgin, all the demons die – including myself, thanks to you two idiots, who couldn't even keep an eye on the _one thing_ that can protect you against all that wants you dead – and those humans out there get to live. Happy end.”

“We're not scarifying her,” Dean growls and puts himself between Ruby and the poor secretary who's standing wide-eyed and trembling in a corner, “Not her, and no one else either, we're not trading lives!”

“It's her or all of you,” Ruby states and turns to Sam, “It's your only chance.”

“Sam,” Dean hisses, yet it sounds dangerously like a plea. He wants to tell Ruby off, snap at her that his brother's right, they're _not_ killing people, but when Dean dies now he'll go to hell, and Sam won't be able to do a damn thing about it since he'll be right there with him. This poor woman doesn't deserve to die, however, if there really isn't another way-

Dean pulls him aside, fury all over his face, and Sam tries to reason with him and Dean refuses to _listen,_ and it's all a fucking nightmare. In the end they pull off a mass-exorcism and when they're back at another motel, as far away from the place they supposedly died in as possible, they're both nearly drunk on the rush of victory. That is until Ruby appears out of nowhere and tells them to turn on the TV.

“They're all dead because of you. I told you this would happen, and all it took was one life. _One_ fucking life and now ten are dead. Congratulations guys, you once again fucked up! This not your usual salt and run, everything down there is getting ready for a war and you two refuse to kill a girl you've never met before,” she's already turning to leave when she adds, “Sometime soon you will need to make decisions worse than this one, and you have to be ready, otherwise it's not just a useless virgin and the two of you that'll be dead.”

Sam's aware that she's right, he could've convinced Dean to go through with it, wanted to, but all he saw with the _disappointment_ in his brother's eyes and over it, he forgot what's on the line. He needs to focus, needs to put all those distractions aside, mainly worrying about whether Dean hates him for what happened a few nights ago or not, because if Sam's keeps screwing up like this, there won't be anything to worry about left.

-

With every passing week the mask of stoic determination and cockiness Dean put on slips more and more. In the beginning he had Sam nearly fooled that he didn't mind what's awaiting him at the end of those twelve months, nearly. Now, (three months left, they only got three months left and still they got nothing) Dean's anxious and jumpy, tries to drown it in alcohol and fails, and after three nights spent vomiting it all out again, he quits the excessive drinking.

“I don't want to die,” Dean admits one night, sitting on his bed, looking small and helpless.

Sam was aware of that, of course he was, but hearing Dean say it, seeing him so absolutely defeated and scared breaks something inside him. “We're getting you out of this contract.” It has become a mantra, the last glimpse of hope that makes him get up in the morning.

“We're not,” Dean objects, “And I can't keep telling myself that because it makes it only worse. I need to- three months left. That's a lot of time, isn't it, still so much I can do, so many monsters I can drag down with me.”

The small smile on his lips, so full of spite, so much Dean, makes Sam's eyes water. He blinks the tears away, refuses to cry when he's the reason for Dean going to hell in the first place. “I'm will to do everything it takes,” he promises.

“Sam-” Dean sighs, shaking his head, but he doesn't let him continue, “No, we're not fighting about that, not again. I- I... Like you said, three months, a lot of time left. And tonight we're going out, I saw a bar a few miles back that didn't look like a total shithole.”

For a moment it seems like Dean will tell him off, but then he thankfully shrugs, “Whatever you want, Sammy. But you're driving.” He nods, doesn't really mind not being able to get drunk as long they're getting out of this tiny motel room, and he doesn't get the chance to do something stupid.

-

Time's running out; hours turn into days, into weeks, into a month, and Sam's so scared that he's hardly able to concentrate on the cases Dean still insists on working. “I'm gonna summon Ruby, she needs to have _something_ by now. She said-”

“She _lied_ , Sam. She won't save me, she can't.”

“We're over that, there is a way, she pro-”

“She told me, okay. Told me that she can't undo my deal, she wanted to get to you and that was the way she did it.”

Deep down he knew, her “help” didn't get them any closer to saving Dean than they were ten months ago, yet he decided to ignore it, running after the faint hope of a demon turning good and using its powers to keep a hunter, of all people, out of hell. He feels stupid because she downright said there were rumours about him in the pit, he should've seen that this was why she got into contact, and he's angry with Dean for not telling him about this any sooner, making them lose so much precious time with sitting around and waiting for a help that'll never come. However, before he can act on either on those feelings (find a way to kill Ruby even without the colt, make her suffer, push Dean into a wall and demand an answer to why he lied, hold him close, kiss him, never let him go), a hopelessness takes hold of him, so unknowingly strong that he nearly breaks down under it right there and then.

They finish the case, and Sam sits down behind the Impala's wheel, driving them off without Dean even complaining, nor asking where they're going. Sam debated giving him a call in advance and forgot about it, yet, when they're standing in front of Bobby's, he looks like he expected them.

Bobby cooks them dinner, which he hasn't done since they were kids, and lets half of it burn like he usually does. It's the best meal Sam had in months. After, they open a bottle of brandy, then another, and talk about their latest hunts as if it still matters. All the way here Sam wondered whether Bobby knows the truth, that Ruby won't help them, that there isn't any hope left, and it's all the more obvious that he does the drunker Bobby is, the alcohol seemingly taking away his ability to mask the pain that's all over his face now whenever he looks into Dean's direction.

“Did a lot of bad things,” he slurs sometime past midnight, all of them half asleep already, “Don't regret anything, not enough anyway, but the way I failed you.”

“Didn't fail us,” Dean objects and Sam would agree if opening his mouth and forming words didn't feel so exhausting right now.

“I remember seeing you two for the first time, still green behind your ears, and already knowing way more than was good for you. Your dad he... I guess he thought he did the right thing, never got around to realize how wrong he was. Trained you to fight, and hunt, and kill when you were still supposed to play with toys and don't have a damn worry in the world. But I shrugged it off, told myself it was none of my business, that you at least were ready for what was waiting out there, that you wouldn't have to lose everything like your old man and me did first. But then... you remember the summer you spent here?”

It's not really a question, still Sam nods and Bobby takes another sip of his drink. He was eleven, and Dean barely fifteen, and dad left them here without any other explanation than, “I need to hunt a thing down”. Sam hated it at first, was furious to be left behind again, now that he knew the truth, and scared shitless that his father wouldn't come back for them, that he'd die and him and Dean weren't there to save him. And Dean hated it, as well, even though he tried to hide it, but then Bobby showed him how to fix cars, let him work on them on his own after a few days, and the angry lines started to disappear from Dean's face. Even then it only took Dean being happy for Sam to feel the same way, and he began to feel nearly _at home_ when he realized that Bobby didn't give a damn whether they worked out every day, or whether they practiced their shooting and Latin, as long as they cleaned up after themselves and left him alone from time to time. That being said, Bobby himself never left them, Sam waited for it, for Bobby to tell them, “There's a new case, here's some money, Dean take care of your brother, Sam listens to him,” but it never happened, and that was the strangest thing about that summer.

“At one point I thought your dad wouldn't return, he hadn't called for a few weeks, and I was sure he got killed... And I thought it was for the best. I know I'm not your father, that I'm nothing good at raising two teenagers who had grown up more or less on their own, but I knew you'd have it better with me than with him. And then John did come back, and I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he won't get you back, and I didn't.” Bobby shakes his head, emptying his glass just to refill it again, and Sam doesn't remember ever seeing him so... desperate. “I never hated that guy more than that summer, seeing what he did to you, fucking up your lives.”

“He was a bastard,” Dean agrees with a whisper, gaze fixed on his own hands. It's even more shocking than Bobby's words since Sam had never heard him say anything even slightly disrespectful about their father, no matter how much he deserved it.

“I'm sorry I let him take you,” Bobby's voice is quiet, nearly cracking, and for a second Sam thinks he sees tears in his eyes, “We wouldn't be here if I didn't, not like that.”

He's about to disagree because nothing would've change, not truly. It didn't matter who raised them and how, not when there was still demon's blood inside of Sam's body, fucking him up, keeping the Yellow-Eyes on his tail just to use him for opening the gates to hell in the end. (“ _They call you the boy-king of hell, Sammy_ ,” Ruby said. But he's not thinking about that, not now, not when he didn't even tell Dean about it.)

Just because it wouldn't have been a way out for Sam, it could've been one for Dean, though. Bobby didn't leave them alone, Bobby didn't make them hunt, didn't leave them and told Dean he was responsible for Sam's well-being, and staying with him would've meant that Dean got a chance to a normal life, a steady job, profound friendships to people outside his family, a girlfriend, a wife, children on his own. He would've had more than a dead father that left him with nothing but the order to kill as many monsters as possible and to protect his little brother no matter the cost. He would've had people to turn to when Sam died, a _life_ , he would've never made the deal. “You did more than anyone,” Sam says, and it's the truth.

When they eventually stumble into their room, their drunken state already turning into a nasty hangover, Sam takes off his jeans and socks and falls down into Dean's bed. He expects some kind of protest, but there's none, instead Dean slings his arms around his middle, pulls him close until they're plastered back to front. Dean's breath is warm against his neck, and Sam doesn't comment when he feels a wetness there, as well, only takes his brother's hand into his own and doesn't let go.

-

After hundreds of demons escaped hell and the Roadhouse got burned down Jo stopped hunting. At first Sam didn't realize it since his mind was consumed by the horrible thought of losing his brother in the course of one year and the desperation to find a way out. Those never left him, yet when there was room to concentrate on something else, as well, he got back into contact with her and learned that she found a small town to stay in. He's happy for her and glad that she's not risking her life on a regular basis, not that he would ever tell her that.

They visit her after another useless hunt, it was Dean's idea and Sam knows it was a bad one the moment Jo puts her arms around Dean and doesn't let him go; this isn't a visit, this is saying goodbye, and Sam's about to throw up.

He didn't tell Jo about Dean's deal, but Ellen was there when he found out, and she doubtlessly told her daughter. Of course, Dean's as cheerful and charming as ever and all of them refuse to talk about the big elephant in Jo's living room named “hell” while they're catching up on what has happened the last few months.

Jo's girlfriend's name is Maureen, she's even taller than Sam, has no clue monsters are real and not the faintest idea what Jo means when she introduces Sam and Dean with “we used to hunt together,” and the way Jo slings her tiny body around her every time they're close is just ridiculously cute. She joins them for dinner and the hours pass by in pleasant conversations before she goes home in order to, “give you guys some more time to catch up and gossip about all the people I don't know, anyway.”

“Sometimes I think I should tell her,” Jo confesses when Maureen's gone, “Or that I should break up with her, save her from this life.”

“Nah,” Dean says with a shake of his head, “You don't just break up with a woman like her. Besides, she's safer with a hunter in her bed than without one.”

This puts a smile on Jo's face, even if it's small, “I always tell myself I wouldn't want to know if I was in her place.” It's the same thing Sam told himself when he was with Jess, and Jo seems as unconvinced about it as he was.

Jo hugs them both goodbye the next day, kisses their cheeks, and says they can visit her whenever, that she's always there for them. She looks at them both, and they all know it's Sam whom she's telling that. When they drive off he sees her crying in the rear mirror.

-

Three weeks left, and no eleven months ever passed faster than those lying behind them. There's nothing Sam won't do anymore, and he doesn't even think twice about the possible consequences when he stumbles upon a supposedly immortal man during research. He lulls Dean in with the prospect of killing zombies and only tells him the truth when he's certain the man really isn't able to die.

“It's a way, it buys us some time! I know it can't be forever, but it's our only choice!”

“He kills people and steals their organs, this is not a _solution_!”

Dean has always been a better person than Sam could ever hope to be, and for the first time he doesn't admire, but resents his brother for it. Another lead on Bela doesn't get them any further to reclaiming the colt, either, they learn the name of the demon holding Dean's contract, though. _Lilith_. It's the second time they hear it, and it isn't worth shit since they got nothing that could stop her.

It takes Dean twelve hours to quit ignoring Sam after his attempt to make him immortal, and another twelve to talk to him like a normal person again. (One day wasted with being angry. Sam counts every hour that left now, every minute.) They haven't shared a bed since the drunken night at Bobby's, and the day they spent together yet apart is what makes Sam realize that there's no point in holding back anymore, that even those last three weeks can be taken from him.

There isn't a new case, they hit the road again, though, and only stop when they're both too exhausted to keep going any longer. Dean barely raises an eyebrow when they enter the room that Sam got them and that only has one king-sized-bed. They brush their teeth silently and Sam lies down first, already regretting the sudden surge of confidence he felt when he walked up to the clerk and got them this room. That's gone again, however, the moment Dean settles in next to him and pulls Sam close until he's wrapped around his back, a sigh and a mumbled, “you stupid oaf,” on his lips.

“This has to stop, Sammy,” Dean says against the skin of his shoulder and for a second Sam's afraid he means their sleeping arrangement, “When... when I'm dead you can't try to save me anymore.”

“Dean-” Sam protests and wants to roll over, but his Dean's arms tighten around his middle, holding in him place.

“I mean it. You can't kill a bunch of people to keep me alive, or make a deal to bring me back, because that only leads to me doing the same thing all over again. It has to end there.”

“You know I can't just sit around and do nothing.”

“No, you gonna kill as many sons of bitches as possible, take care of my car, enjoy your life. That's what you gonna do.”

This time he isn't hindered from rolling over, and he finds Dean with a doleful smile on his lips. “This is bullshit,” Sam mumbles, placing one hand on Dean's cheek, tracing the small lines under his eyes with his thumb, “You don't get to sacrifice yourself and then expect me to not do the same thing for you.”

“Damn right I can, big brother privilege.”

That makes Sam laugh, even though it's hardly audible, and it turns into a sob nearly immediately. All those tears he's holding back for months now are threatening to spill over, clouding his vision, and he blinks them away, refusing to give in. “It okay,” Dean whispers, the hands on Sam's back starting to paint soothing circles into his skin.

Nothing has ever been further from okay, and Sam's places his hand in Dean's hair, finds it soft under the tips of his fingers, and takes his brother's face in, never wants to look on anything else. He's so beautiful that it hurts, and Sam loves him so much that his heart will implode down every moment now. There's only an inch separating them, they're breathing the same air, Sam practically tastes Dean's smell on his tongue, and he could lean forward, give in, finally stop holding back after ten years of desperate desire. Dean's lips are full, and redder than usual, even in the dark, and ever so slightly parted, they would feel good under Sam's own lips, perfect, _just right._ And Dean seems to realize what Sam's thinking about, his gaze wandering between Sam's eyes and lips back and forth, the hand on Sam's skin halting their movements, and yet they're not pulling away, instead they're hesitantly pulling him in.

Dean opens his mouth then, as if he wants to say something, immediately closes it again, though, and Sam snaps out of it, realizes what he's about to do. If he kisses Dean now he gets either pushed away and has to live with the knowledge that his brother spent his last weeks being disgusted by him, or, even worse, Dean kisses him back, and he'll regret not doing this any sooner for the rest of his days.

“Don't leave me,” he whispers instead, lets his hand trail down to Dean's shoulder, squeezes it, “I can't let you go.” ( _I need to figure out what this is, if you'd kiss me back, I need to do it, just once, please. But not like this, not now._ )

“We've got some time left,” Dean says as if it didn't stop being a shimmer of hope weeks ago.

Sam rolls over again, doesn't bear to look into Dean's face any second longer, not if he won't be able to do it soon. The arms around his body tighten, and he feels a kiss being placed on his neck, then another. It's enough for now.

-

Twenty-four hours left, and they finally got a lead on Lilith, yet no weapon to kill her, and Sam doesn't give a damn anymore, he summons Ruby, ready to torture her into giving him what he wants.

“I never lied to you, Sam, you know, there is a way to save your brother, I just I couldn't tell you any sooner.”

“You needed me to be desperate,” he realizes,

“Yes, and you certainly are now, aren't you,” she grins, and it's true, at this point she could ask him to kill a dozen of virgins himself if it only kept Dean by his side.

However, he never gets to hear what horrible things she's about to say since Dean walks in on them then, having seen right through Sam when he lied to him about where he was going. Before Sam can stop him Dean hits Ruby, steals her knife when she's distracted with landing a few punches in his face as well, and puts her into a devil's trap.

They're setting off to kill Lilith, to save Dean, to finally end this nightmare, and Sam's glad Ruby didn't get around to tell him what she wanted him to do. He would've done it, no matter the costs, no questions asks.

-

Dean gets ripped apart by hell-hounds right in front of Sam's eyes, and time stops again.

-

A week later Sam sits in a bar, and he doesn't remember how he got there, nor when. It doesn't matter, though, all that matters is that his brother's dead and his body's buried, and when it was done Sam put his lips around the barrel of his gun and was too weak to go through with it.

He orders another drink, gets a refill of whatever he had before, and doesn't even realize someone is sitting down next to him until he feels a hand on his knee.

“Hello, Sam,” the woman says, and even though he's certain he's never seen her before, she's got something on her, he recognizes, “I think we got interrupted during our last chat.”

Sam takes hold of the knife he hasn't let out of sight ever since, “Tell me what I need to do.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, everytime I want to make them kiss one of them dies.


	5. season four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different since it mainly focus on a) what happened in between the seasons and b) on the infamous _It's a Terrible Life_ episode. Tbh I thought it's in season five and it totally fucked up my plans for this chapter, but whatever, one does not simply ignore that episode and how they wanted to run off with each other after awkwardly flirting for three weeks.
> 
> And thanks so much again guys, for reading, leaving kudos and bookmarks and comments, it's such a joy!
> 
>  _Little warning:_ There is a mention of self-harm, but you can easily avoid it by just skipping those two paragraphs in sentences brackets somewhere in the middle of this chapter when Sam's looking at Dean's scars (or rather his now scar-less body).

“ _Hey, Sam it's Jo. I don't... I don't know what to say, I thought... I- You know you can call me, right? Or send an email, or visit, whatever. Whenever. I'm there for you.”_

-

He takes Ruby back to the crappy motel he check in to this afternoon. Or was it yesterday? He can't remember. It's probably not a got idea, inviting a demon into your home, but it's not like she doesn't already know where he lives, nor that she couldn't have killed him back at the bar. (Maybe, he had thanked her if she did.)

“Whose body is that?” Sam asks when he closed the door, going straight for the small fridge he wisely stocked with beer.

“Not going to offer me one,” she grins, and when he only tightens the grip around the knife he hasn't let go off since he first lay eyes on her half an hour ago, she merely sighs, “So no small talk, huh. But I'm actually glad that you asked 'cause have something for you. Here, you might call it a peace offering.”

She hands him a sheet of paper and after a moment he realizes it's from a hospital, declaring one unidentified twenty-six years old woman to be brain-dead. “No one inside but me.”

“What do you want?” He feels tired suddenly, so endlessly tired that he doesn't even begin to argue that she could've gotten this certificate from anywhere.

“I want Lilith dead, and that's exactly what you should want, as well. She's still holding your brother's contract and that's the only thing that's keeping him down there. When she's dead the contract is gone, and I can bring him back.”

“How you gonna do that?” It sounds too easy, yet he can't stop this little simmer of hope spreading inside his chest.

“Not gonna tell you now,” she laughs, “I know you and your stupid Winchester-recklessness, the only thing you'll achieve is getting yourself killed and that's not going to help either of us.”

He considers threatening her with the knife, but this will probably only lead to her leaving the body and disappear to where the fuck ever she came from, so he bites his tongue and says, “Then why don't you just kill her? Why do you come to me?”

“I told you, I can't kill her, but you on the other hand...” she comes closer, the new, smaller body gives her an innocent look, however, not even the sweet smile can mask the dangerous gleaming in her eyes, “I knew you would send me to, literately, hell if I told you early, back when you still had so much hope, so many options. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to save your brother, and that he's dead now is on you two because you refused to fucking _listen to me_. But whatever, that's done, I don't hold any grudges, and I'm here to help.”

“Quit fucking around and tell me what makes you think I could kill her.”

“Your powers, Sammy. Do you really think Azazel went all these lengths just to make you open the gates of hell for him? U-uh, he wanted Lilith dead, so he fed good, old demon juice to cute, little babies and waited for them to grow up so that he could train them. Of course, you and your friends ruined that, as well.”

He expected it, it's the only thing that distinguishes him from any other human, hearing it out loud, having this source of nightmares confirmed, is somehow a shock. “They're gone, ever since we killed him I got rid of them.”

“You got rid of shit, they're still there, waiting to be used. Do you even know what you're capable of? That little levitating stuff and looking into the future was nothing compared to what you'll be able to do when I'll have taught you _how_.”

“Forget it,” he growls, “I'm not gonna let a demon trick me into being her killing machine, or whatever your plan is.”

“You know what, I'm not doing this again. I had enough of your and your brother's whining for the next decades. I'm going to leave and _you_ ,” she points her finger at him like she's a mother scolding her child, “Are going to call me when you're ready to talk. Try to save Dean on your own, have fun with it, and don't you dare to complain when you don't recognize what you're getting back. Because every minute, every _second_ you waste with not listening to me, your brother's sitting in hell, and they're not doing each other's nails down there, believe me.” She places a phone on the table, and he considers saying that he definitely won't use it, before he can make up his mind, however, she already walked out of the door.

-

“ _It's Bobby, call me back. There's a case, something you might... just call me, 'kay?”_

-

He lasts exactly five days before he gives in and calls Ruby. In the meantime he summoned a crossroad-demon and when the thing wearing a man's body refused to make a deal, just _laughed_ instead, Sam killed it. He went through this routine three more times, always with the exact same result, driving all through the day to shake whatever might be following him off his tail, nothing but the stories he read about hell during his months of research on his mind. “ _You're wasting your time,_ ” Ruby voice says inside his head, playing on repeat like a mantra. He read about fire, and torture, and pain, and despair, and he doesn't want to believe any of it, but there's no other way to explain how a human soul turns into a demon, no matter how rotten it was to begin with. Missing Dean feels like his heart is getting ripped out of his chest, but the knowledge that this is probably quite literately happening to him right now, makes Sam want to scratch the skin and flesh of his bones until there's nothing left and he can finally be with his brother again.

When he eventually swallows down his pride and calls the only number that's saved on the phone Ruby gave him he's ready to beg her to come back, she only asks him where he's staying, though, and stands in front of his door no ten hours later. “Why do you want her dead?” He needs to know, needs to know what he'll trade his brother's life and his oath to never use these powers again for. Not that it will matter, he'll do anything without the blink of an eye just to see Dean again, to have him safe.

The grin on Ruby's face is victorious, they're both painfully aware that she got him right where she always wanted him to be. “I like it up here, having a pretty body, eating French-fries and drinking scotch, watching movies, and don't get me started on the internet, really a neat invention right there. But nothing of this will be left when Lilith's done with what she's about to do. There will be no way to distinguish between hell and earth, any more, and I definitely spent enough time in the pit already.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“Yes, teach me to use these powers, show me how to kill her, and then you'll bring my brother back. And don't you even think about screwing me over or it'll be your head on a spike.”

She merely smiles at his threat, “Let's get started then.”

-

“ _Sam? It's me again, Jo. I left you a few emails, don't know if you got them. Whatever. Just- just call me, or text, or anything. I'm worried, okay. I get that you don't want to talk, I really do, but I need to know you're ok- Well, that you're alive. Please.”_

-

It's frighteningly easy to control the powers that are responsible for the death of his entire family, the powers that destroyed his life, and that he's right now using to get a demon out of a human's body. The two weeks prior Ruby mostly made him move furniture or made him meditate so that he "got in touch with your demon-side”. He felt like part suburban-mom, part main character in a shitty hero movie, and he got so frustrated with the seeming waste of time that he was about to just throw the fridge at her when it somehow _clicked._ Suddenly he was not only able to sense those powers inside him, feel their endless potential, but when he opened his eyes he _saw_ Ruby, not her meat-suit but her true form inside it. It was as ugly as mesmerizing.

Thus, the next step was to eventually, _finally,_ make use of these freakish abilities and two days later they have a particularly bloodthirsty demon chained inside an abandoned basement. Sam sees it just like he can see Ruby now, and it's so easy to grab it, claw what feels like his fingers into the black smoke, and it should be no effort to wrench it from the stolen body, the thought feels so natural, like this is exactly what he's supposed to do, but then the demon starts to fight back.

Sam can see how it claws itself further into the body, and when he pulls on it, tries to force it out, it only holds on tighter, bones breaking in the process. Gritting his teeth he keeps pulling, his body starting to shake under the effort, and something warm begins to run from his nose. The pain in his head spreads without a warning, and is so mind-numbing that he nearly lets go of the demon.

“Stop it, Sam,” Ruby's voice says from somewhere, “Fuck, stop it!” Then, the pain is gone, as abruptly as it came.

For a moment white spots are dancing in front of his eyes and when his vision eventually clears again he finds himself face to with the poor possessed bastard, slumped into himself with the knife in his throat.

“I nearly got it!” he growls, angry that Ruby stopped him, angry that she killed the guy.

“It nearly got you,” she snaps back, “And the man was dead anyway, it doesn't matter. We'll get us another demon and try again.”

And that they'll do.

-

“ _Hey kid listen, it's Bobby. Again. You don't owe me a postcard or shit like that, but it's nearly two months, and you haven't answered a goddamn anything from anyone. A sign of life would be appreciated, dammit. Call me.”_

-

Third try, third failure, and slowly, but surely he's losing any hope that he'll ever be able to pull a demon out of a body, or destroy it. (Let alone kill Lilith, fuck, how is he supposed to ever stand a chance against her?) He isn't any step closer to saving Dean than he was two months ago, or _fourteen_ months for that matter, and with every passing day the horrible knowledge what is happening to his brother while he wastes days and weeks is consuming his mind bit by bit.

“I told you it would take some time,” Ruby says and takes a big sip from her milkshake, “And you nearly had that last fucker.” She sits opposite of him in a booth of some small-town diner and Sam doesn't even remember since when this is a thing they do, just idly chatting and eating. She doesn't need to feed that stolen body, yet she eats whenever he does, usually slurping a milkshake and dipping greasy French-fries into it which she then shovels down like a half-starved man. It was easy, falling into this routine, and he's again painfully aware how little it differs to what he and Dean had.

Sam feels guilty about it, so fucking guilty that he's sometimes about to send Ruby away just to soothe is conscience, but of course he can't, he still needs her, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he could get Dean back without her help, anymore. At least he tries to tell himself that this is the only reason, the truth is, however, that he never did well on his own. He has no longer any soul left in this world, and she is the only person, _thing,_ that keeps him sane during the endless hours of driving, and waiting, and lying awake at night. And while they formed some sort of reluctant companionship there are a few lines he isn't crossing, mainly letting her drive Dean's car, or letting her touch any of his other stuff he still carries around as if Dean is just on a vacation that he'll be back from soon. (He will be back soon, he has to.)

“Nearly is not enough,” Sam objects and places his fork on his plate with the half-eaten scrambled eggs, his stomach suddenly contracting like it does more and more often these days.

“There's another potential playmate two-days-drive from here, I'm pretty sure you're going to have a breakthrough with him,” he doesn't get a chance to ask what exactly makes her so sure of it since she already continues talking, “Whatever. What I wanted to know since forever, did the two of you fuck?”

He chokes on his own spit, and before he has fully caught his breath again she laughs and says, “Oh, come on, Sam, you've got it bad for your brother, and he _sacrificed his soul_ for you. Don't act like some shy, innocent virgin now.”

“This is not... You can't just... ” he stammers, feeling his cheeks getting hot. She teased him about it once, but he thought she had forgotten it, or taken it as a joke, yet now she seems serious, curious even. No one has ever assumed he'd want anything more from Dean than a normal, little brother should, no one but dad and this conversation ended spectacularly bad.

“Why? Because you're brothers?” she huffs and doesn't even lower her voice, “As if I didn't see much worse things in hell and on earth, too, for that matter. So, you _did_ fuck, didn't you? No need to be embarrassed, it's actually quite hot.”

“We didn't- No, I'm not talking with you about it, not now, not ever.” He slams some bills onto the table, and gets up to leave for the car, already dreading the next hours of being locked-in in it with Ruby.

“You're no fun,” she boos and trails after him.

-

“ _Hello Sam, it's Jo, do you remember me? Fuck, I know your life is shit right now, and I don't expect anything from you, really, just a fucking 'Hey Jo, I'll talk to you when I'm able to again' would be nice. I_ guess _you're alive since your phone is still turned on, but maybe some psycho killed you and just keeps it charged. I don't know because you don't fucking talk to anyone. I'm worried okay, I'm fucking worried, and I miss you. Call me, asshole!”_

-

It goes down the exact same way it did the times before; they catch a demon, bring it to an abandoned place, put it in chains, Sam grabs the black smoke with his powers and fails to pull it out. This time, though, Ruby doesn't kill it with the knife when his nose starts to bleed and the pain in his head gets nearly unbearable, instead she places a hand on his shoulder and whispers, “Stop, Sam,” and this time he listens.

“It's not gonna work,” he groans, wiping his nose, the demon in its chains laughing maniacally, calling him a pathetic loser.

“No,” Ruby agrees, “Your powers aren't strong enough after all. However, I know what can fuel them.”

“What is it?” he asks, an uneasy feeling starting to sink in.

“You know what it is,” she answers quietly, reassuring smile on her face like they're talking about anything but that, “Same thing that made you special in the first place.”

“No,” he shakes his head, pushes her away, “I'm not doing that. It will work without... whatever you're offering.”

“Sure, it might. In a few weeks, months maybe. How long is Dean in hell now? Two months? Three? But hey, don't worry, it's not like he's going anywhere.”

“Stop talking about him,” Sam growls and without even planing to do it he has her pinned against a wall, his forearm pressed into her throat. She looks so small, so helpless, and a part of him is disgusted with himself, but the smile never left her lips, instead it widens.

“Use that anger, Sam, come on, forget all the thing you were told are 'right' or 'wrong'. What does it matter, any longer? 'Right' won't bring Dean back, 'right' won't save any of us. It's that or giving up,” he feels her hand slipping into his pocket, grabbing the Swiss-Army-knife Dean got him for his tenths birthday. He doesn't stop her. “I promise it won't hurt nor change you, it'll only make you stronger.”

Everything inside him tells him to stop her, to let go of her, turn around and leave like he should've done the first time she stood in front of him one year ago. Instead, he watches her cutting into her own palm, slowly bringing her hand to his mouth. “Drink, Sam,” and he does.

He expects it to taste horrible, expects his stomach to revolt, and while her blood doesn't taste _good,_ it's nothing like the times he got a mouthful of his own blood, and before he can make any sense of it he feels himself swallowing it eagerly. He stops thinking, sucks on her palm to get _more_ and when she eventually pulls her hand away he's about to force it back. “That's enough for now,” she dictates.

And she's probably right, he feels like he's floating, like he's going under, all of his senses are somehow sharpened, his mind racing to take all the new impressions in, and he's feeling strong. So amazingly strong that Ruby doesn't even need to tell him to try it again, he merely turns around and looks at the pathetic little demon, its eyes wide with horror, and no longer a trace of a laugh on its face.

Sam grabs the black smoke, that thing that destroyed this human body, that it's currently inhabiting it like a parasite, that thing that took so many lives before it, and with a flick of his hand he makes it implode.

-

“ _Sam, it's Ellen. I just wanted you to tell you that I know what you're going through, and I understand that you need some time off. When my husband died all I wanted to do was to hide somewhere and only crawl out again when it finally stopped hurting so bad. I couldn't then, but sometimes I think it would've been for the better. Well, I just wanted to say take all the time you need, okay. And you can talk to me whenever. Get better Sam.”_

-

The nights are the worst because that's when he feels the loneliest, when he misses Dean the most. He's usually hardly is able to fall asleep, but Ruby's presences in the bed next to his is a painful remainder to who _should_ lie in it and that makes falling asleep nearly impossible. (When he asked her about why she's sleeping every night even though she doesn't need to, she only shrugged and said, because she could, and Sam definitely gets that.) Tonight, however, he is so drained from his efforts to pull the demon out of the body and from the effect Ruby's blood had on him, that it still does, that he's asleep the moment his head touches his pillow.

He dreams of Dean, being trapped in a dark, empty room, screaming for Sam to save him, but he doesn't, only watches Dean getting more and more desperate, and when suddenly a full moon appears his brother turns into a werewolf, charging at him, and that's when Sam jerks awake with a gasp. At first, he's confused to what has happened, but then he sees Ruby sitting next to him on his bed, an unreadable look on her face.

“Sounded like you had a nightmare.” It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_. She shouldn't even be here, and more so shouldn't be the one who shakes him awake when he has a bad dream. (He wants Dean, wants his brother, wants to feel his arms around him, wants to inhale his sense, taste his skin, anything, everything.)

“You never told him how you feel for him, huh?” she asks, voice gentle.

“Why do you even care?” Sam groans. He wonders if he said anything while he was asleep or if it's simply all over his face.

“It might be a shock to you, but I have feelings, too. Well, at least I had them when I was still human, and I know what it's like to fall in love with someone you think you shouldn't have. And I know what's like regretting that you've never told him, always wondering what could've been.” She places one of her hands (it's too small, too soft) on his cheek, and he should flinch away, but it feels good, so good.

“I don't regret it, he would've hated me,” he chokes. Admitting this, not just to her but to himself, as well, hurts, yet it's a relief to be able to talk about it for once, to not hide it deep inside like he normally does.

“What makes you so sure?” Her thumb's stroking the skin under his eyes, featherlight touches that make him unwillingly lean into her hand.

“Dean w- is my brother,” he huffs since it's obvious, isn't it, “He always looked after me, protected me, he would've been disgusted. It's wrong, and know it's wrong, and I tried to fight it for so long, but it never worked. I hate myself for it, so how is he supposed to not do the same?”

“That idiot threw himself into hell for you, I don't know, but I definitely don't put wanting to fuck his baby brother past him.”

Sam snorts at that, even though it painful to hear it, even though he doesn't believe she could be right for a second.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close them.”

He does it, he already drank Ruby's blood and admitted to being in love with his brother, it can't possibly get any worse. That is until his flimsy blanket is getting lifted, and before he can move a single muscle a hand slips into his boxer-briefs and closes around his dick.

“What-?” he stutters, eyes snapping open again.

“Pretend it's him. Close your eyes and pretend it's Dean who's with you, who's finally giving you what you want, what you need.”

And he wants to push her off his bed, wants to use his powers on her, kill her with her own knife, he _should_ do that, should do anything but keep lying there and let her hand work his cock, pumping it to hardness. He closes his eyes, sick with guilt and brain shutting down with how turned on he is. It doesn't take long, and he comes to pictures of his brother on his mind.

-

“ _It's Bobby, I got that you don't want to talk to us, but we're still family. You don't do that to your family, despite your asshole of a father not teaching you any better. But whatever, I won't bother you anymore.”_

-

Days pass in a haze. They drive across the country to hunt more demons down, this time, though, they don't capture and enchain them, instead Ruby lures them to a place without any humans near-by for Sam, taste of blood still on his tongue, to evict them out of their meat-suits. It's considerably harder, doing it when they're not chained and weakened and are instead trying to fight back, but he manages, even though his nose starts to bleed again with the effort, and he feels burned out after.

“You need to work under pressure, be able to do that while you get attacked from all sides. Lilith won't sit down and idly wait for you to kill her.”

He grits his teeth, hates it when Ruby talks to him like that, it reminds him too much of his father. “Fuck you, as if I don't know that,” he growls.

“Then fucking concentrate already and stop talking to me like that, I'm not your bitch.” Despite the angry look on her face it nearly sounds playful, and once again he's aware that he never should have gone done that road, should've swatted her hand away when she first touched his dick. Never should've talked to her in the first place.

The thing is, her blood makes it easier, not just controlling his powers, but giving in to her more and more, as well. He has never taken drugs before, however he feels high whenever she let him have some, his own body feeling somehow alien and right like it's supposed to be at the same time, and his mind's swimming in endorphins and the desire to go forward, faster, harder. He feels unstoppable, _is_ unstoppable, and the question of what he should and shouldn't do becomes less important with every time he cuts her skin and puts his lips on the wound.

-

“ _Hello Sam, Jo here again. Listen, I'm sorry for my last message, I was just so angry. I get it, okay, I get you need time away from this mess, that you want to forget, I just hope you found someone to help you. I don't know how anyone is supposed to get over something like that alone. I'm still living at the same address, just so that you know where to find me whenever you need to.”_

-

“Maybe you should sink down on your knees for him when you got him back,” Ruby whispers into his ear, her hips ever so slowly lifting and sinking down again, “Shut him up and pin him against a wall and just do what you want to do for so long now.”

He wants to argue, it isn't about sex, and he certainly won't force Dean into doing anything, but then she starts to set up a faster pace and Sam closes his eyes a little tighter, moans instead of forming words.

“He'd come down your throat, he's definitely one of those guys who like that, wants to mark you as his. Did you think about what he would taste like when you sucked all these other cocks, Sammy?” she continues, and yes, Sam did, he always tried not to, without any success, and he would never admit to it out loud, especially not to Ruby who already knows too much.

Instead, he takes hold of her hips, moves her faster and bites into her shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood, but nearly.

“Or do you want him to blow you? Do you think he'd like that more? To be able to take care of his little brother again?” It's what sends him over the edge, and he hates himself for it.

-

“ _You need to call me. Right now.”_

Sam doesn't remember Bobby's voice ever being that insistent. Hesitantly, he presses the 'call' button.

-

For a wonderful, glorious second he believes that everything is how it should be again, that those last months, years, were only a bad dream, but then the realization sinks in that this thing in front of him isn't his brother, can't be. Lilith is still alive, they got no step closer to finding her, and whatever he's opened the door to can only be here to leech its way into his life and hinder him from fulfilling the quest for revenge the Yellow-Eyes sat him on when it first took his mother and then every other person he ever loved away from him.

He is at the thing's throat, acting on instinct and even though it's been days since he last drank from Ruby he feels his powers vibrating under his skin, hungry to lash out and be fed once again.

"It's him!" Bobby's (Bobby? Since when is Bobby here?) comes from somewhere, "I checked everything. It's Dean!" Sam stops at that because Bobby would make sure, wouldn't he, he'd never let himself be fooled, and now that Sam looks closer he doesn't see any trace of the blackness that lurks behind all those monsters' eyes he has encountered in the last months.

"How?" he asks because Dean is just the way he remembers him, beautiful and alive, and no wounds or scars where the hounds tore the flesh off his bones. Dean got ripped apart, and he died, and they buried him, and now he's standing in front of Sam like he was never even gone.

"I don't know." His voice is rusty, the words only formed hesitantly, and Sam doesn't really hear them, because _it's Dean_.

He throws himself around his brother, presses their bodies together as if he could merge them and Dean returns the embrace just as desperately. He still smells like Sam remembers him and if it weren't for the people watching them Sam would pull Dean over to one of the beds and never leave it again.

"I think I should go," Ruby announces and Dean practically jerks out off the embrace. She is grinning widely, pushing past them while winking at Sam before she disappears into the hall and around a corner.

For a moment Dean looks puzzled then something that is dangerously close to recognition flashes over his face, it's gone in the split of a second, though, and Sam feels his shoulders sink in relief when Dean asks with his signature grin, "How much did you have to pay for her?"

-

For the rest of the day they try to find an answer to what has happened, to who or what has brought Dean back. At first, Dean doesn't believe Sam when he says it wasn't him, that he didn't make a deal, and he doesn't tell his brother about summoning a demon to make one, doing this trice, being laughed at and ultimately killing them. He neither tells Dean about the other things he did, or about Ruby and her blood. At some point he'll have to, and that point is probably coming rather sooner than later, but he can't bear to see the disappointment on Dean's face, the anger, the disgust in what has become of Sam. He can't, not now. Instead, Sam says he's sorry for not having been able to save him, and it's only Bobby's presence that stops him from falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness.

When Bobby is finally gone, however, they tiptoe around each other awkwardly and Sam is reminded of those first few weeks after Jess had died and Dean and him were together for the first time in years. It hasn't been years but months now, yet Dean is changed somehow, he's harder, quieter, which isn't too surprising considering he died and went to hell, even though he thankfully doesn't remember anything about it. Seeing Dean's body for the first time, though, makes Sam realize exactly how changed Dean truly is.

He was prepared for it, Dean told him about the hand-shaped scar on his shoulder and the lack of any other, earlier, but Sam had only thought about it in the context of finding an answer to what seemingly gripped Dean there and therefore saved him from hell, but being confronted with it now makes his stomach tighten. This is what Dean's body should look like, this is who Dean would've been if their lives hadn't been turned to shit the night Sam became six months old. It's a body that hasn't been hit, nor burned, nor stabbed, nor shot, nor torn apart, and Sam is nearly glad for the angry-red scar tissue on Dean's shoulder because it makes his otherwise flawless skin more real.

Cautiously he takes a few steps forward until he stands right in front of Dean and places his fingers on the smooth patch of skin on Dean's stomach where a long, ugly scar should be. It happened such a long time ago that Sam doesn't remember what it was that hurt Dean, however so much blood had gushed out of the wound that Sam was sure his brother would die. He had cried and shook until dad shout at him, reminded him of his training, and Sam stopped the useless panicking then, concentrated on the task in front of him and patched Dean back together. It was the first time he did stitches on real human flesh and his inexperienced, messy work let to the wound not quite healing for weeks and when it finally did Dean was left with an ugly scar.

(After, Sam felt so guilty for fucking it up and ruining Dean's marvelous, perfect body that he trained on his own skin. It were only small cuts, they still hurt like a bitch, though, and the stitching was even worse, but he got soon really good at it. Of course, he had to hide it from Dean, knew his brother would be mad if he found out, and since it was winter he could easily cover them. When Dean did eventually see the scars on his thighs weeks later he didn't buy Sam's bullshit excuses for a second and expectedly got furious, however not at Sam but at dad who was totally confused to what was going on when Dean refused to talk to him more than absolutely necessary for weeks. Still, he made Sam swear to never do it again, which felt pointless because he had only been practicing, but whatever, he promised it.

When Jess saw the scars a few years later she kissed them and said she understood, that her sister cut too, and that he has to talk to her if he ever feels the need again. Sam never corrected her.)

"Pretty scary, huh," Dean mumbles, pulling Sam back out of his memories, "It's my body but not quite."

"Doesn't matter," Sam answers, now touching Dean's stomach with both hands, his heart racing with how much he missed this, yearned for it, "Let's go to bed, okay."

They lie down, limbs tangled and faces so close that they share a breath, just like it's supposed to be.

After that first night they don't share a bed anymore, though, Dean hardly ever lets Sam touch him, more often than not flinches back from the smallest brush of skin against skin. There must have been something about that night that made Dean realize just how rotten, how far from human his little brother is, walking in on him and Ruby killing a demon days later was merely the final confirmation to it, and for the weeks to come Sam wishes himself constantly back to this night, just to feel that whole, this blissfully happy, once again.

-

Sam Wesson reconsiders about every decision he ever made, and especially moving to Chicago just because of a bad break-up, when he looks at himself in the mirror. The yellow shirt gives him the aesthetic of an overgrown preschooler, and to make things worse there is no point in wearing it, anyway, since he only gets in contact with customers via phone. Whatever, he should be grateful, the pay is relatively okay which is more than he hoped for when he needed to find a new job in the midst of a financial crisis, and he can sit on his ass all day, mindlessly performing tasks and getting home not totally worn out in the evening, and if that isn't the dream he doesn't know, either.

Turns out is co-workers are actually really nice, inviting him over to a bar around the block as a welcome, and on the third day he finds himself actually just mediocre resenting his new job when his alarm wakes him from another weird nightmare. It's on that day that he meets the guy from his dreams in the elevator, literately speaking.

Ever since Sam moved into his new flat a week ago he dreams every night without exception from things straight out of a horror movie, which is weird enough since he hates those, what's even weirder, though, is that it's always him and this good-looking guy fighting ghost, vampires, and werewolves together. And exactly that guy is standing next to him in the elevator, wearing a suit and tie, and a stressed look on his ridiculously handsome face.

When he raises an eyebrow Sam realizes that he has been staring conspicuously, and missed getting out of the elevator with all the other people on the right floor over that. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks and feels awkward, but it's at least not as awkward as just staring at the guy, who's probably his boss, like a creep.

“I don't think so,” comes the answer slightly annoyed.

“Are you sure? I have the feeling we met before.” Not just from his dream, but the face seems so utterly familiar like they maybe went to school together once or something like that.

“I'm really not interested,” the guy states.

“That's not-” Sam stutters, but suddenly the elevator-doors open, and he's left standing there like a fool.

-

The guy's name is Dean Smith, he only started working at the company this month, as well, and from all the information Sam was able to gather about him, they never even lived in the same state before. He feels a bit like a stalker, but the question to where he knows this Dean-guy from doesn't let him sleep at night. Which is great, all things considers, because he's still regularly dreaming of the guy, making this whole affair even more strange and puzzling.

When he finds himself alone with Dean (he should probably call him Mr. Smith, even in his head, but it feels somehow wrong) in the elevator once again, Sam can't stop himself from asking, “Did you visit San Francisco by any change, or lived there?”

“Did someone tell you, your pick-up lines are horrible? Hate it to break it to you, but they are,” Dean says and demonstratively pulls his Black Berry out of his pocket and starts typing what's certainly is a very, very important business-man-email.

“I'm not trying to flirt,” Sam protests, and he isn't, he's just trying to find out where he knows this guy from because the more he thinks about it the more certain he is that he does.

“You're not?” Dean asks, already raising his eyebrow again and stops typing. He even looks a little _offended_ , which makes Sam smile unwillingly.

“I'm sure I know you from somewhere, I just can't figure out from where.”

“I'll tell you what, you gonna think about better lines, and then you _might_ get to know me,” Dean states with a shit-eating grin and of course the elevator stops right this moment again.

“I'm not flirting with you,” Sam repeats, and it starts to sound weak even to his own ears.

“Sure, you aren't,” Dean nods, already stepping out of the elevator. And Sam wasn't trying to flirt, he really wasn't, but he isn't blind and definitely not straight either, so who can blame him for staring at Dean Smith's very fine ass until the doors unfortunately close again.

-

One of his co-workers kills himself after acting strange the two days prior, and if that wasn't bad enough he killed himself by sticking his head into the office's microwave, and _who does that_? When Sam comes into work, is told what has happened and sees paramedics moving the body, there is something in the back of his mind that feels like an itch. It's the same itch he feels whenever he sees Dean, it's recognition and something else he can't put a name on.

The dreams that haunt him every night come suddenly to his mind, dreams about ghosts that make people do the craziest thing, kill them in the cruelest ways possible. Like making someone stick their head into a microwave. It doesn't make any sense, ghosts aren't real, his dreams aren't real, yet when his eyes land on Dean who's staring into the break-room, the _crime-scene,_ surrounded by a dozen other men and women in suits talking fast and low and probably pondering strategies to avoid any possible lawsuits, Sam sees the same _recognition_ in his eyes he's feeling himself.

When Dean sets off to the elevators Sam follows him, again feeling like a stalker and not giving a damn about it. “You think you saw this before, too, don't you,” he says, pushing past the already closing doors. Thankfully, they're alone.

“A man microwaving his head? No, I don't think so,” Dean snaps. He seems shaken and Sam particularly sees his minds working.

“I don't mean the details, but the weird behavior, and then the strange, violent death, it feels familiar, doesn't it.”

Dean stares at him, visibly swallows, but doesn't say anything, so Sam continues, “I know it sounds crazy, but I'm having these dreams. I'm fighting ghosts, and other stuff, and they kill people in similar ways, it always looks like a weird accident or a strange suicide, but it's not. Why should anyone kill himself in such a painful way, how didn't he pull his head out instinctively? It doesn't make any sense.”

“What are you saying? That a _ghost_ killed him? Come on!”

“I don't know, it could be. But whatever it was I know something's off and I know you do, too.”

The look in Dean's eyes is all the confirmation that's needed, yet he shakes his head, “Only thing I know is that a guy, who insists he knows me from somewhere, tells me he believes in murderous ghosts, and that's even crazier than a man killing himself with a microwave.”

Sam doesn't try to argue with that, he knows it's true, that it _does_ sound crazy, however, at the same time certain he's right about it, and considering the way Dean looks at him before flees the elevator he knows it, too.

-

Another man dies, and again it's one of Sam's direct co-workers, and again it was a strange suicide since he stabbed himself with a pencil and bled to death. This time, though, Dean was with him, watched it happen, and Sam isn't even surprised when his phone rings, and he's called into Dean's office.

“What did you see?” he asks immediately.

Dean looks horrible, unnaturally white, and his hands are trembling, even though he seemingly tries to stop it. “I don't know what I saw,” he snaps, “Fuck, I really don't know. I think I'm going crazy here. Just- tell me what exactly it is that you're 'dreaming' about and why you think that- that this is happening here.”

And so Sam does and Dean listens and doesn't even comment when Sam admits that he dreams of him, as well. When Sam's finished he asks, “So, you believe me? That it's- could be a ghost.”

“I believe that something's is really fucking wrong, and we're gonna find out what it is. But not here, I'm not staying in this building any minute longer.”

-

Dean's apartment is exactly like Sam imagined it, not that he spent time thinking about it (he did). It's got the typical rich-bachelor-chic with an open, clearly mostly unused kitchen, expansive, very unpractical furniture, and a work-out-space that definitely gets used a lot, considering Dean's physique, not that Sam's paying any attention to it (he does).

When they settle down to research ghosts Sam self-consciously wishes he brought another shirt to work, anything that's not yellow and ugly, and he could've changed into, which is totally ridiculous since Dean hasn't seen him in anything but this shirt and this is not a _date._ Just as if Dean read his thoughts he looks suddenly up from his laptop and says with a smirk, “So, you dream of me? Like regularly?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam groans, feeling his cheeks starting to heat up, “I told you we were hunting ghosts and stuff. I told you, that they didn't feel like dreams but like memories, or visions, I don't know.”

“So, you really weren't flirting with me, huh?” Dean asks, smile still wide, however, there's something else in his eyes, as well.

“No,” Sam says and Dean only nods and looks back onto his screen. It's stupid, the guy is still his boss (a very good looking one), and they might be hunting a murderous ghost and should be concentrating on that (and not on the trace of disappointed that was on Dean's face a few seconds ago), still Sam clears his throat and asks, “When this is over we could grab some beers,” he remembers the no-alcohol-nor-carbs-diet Dean mentioned earlier, so he adds, “Or salads and... juice.” This came out far more awkwardly than he thought it would and Dean's again smirking like an ass, making Sam's stomach turn hot in something entirely different from embarrassment.

“Your lines still suck, you know.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“Come on, it was a joke, Sammy,” Dean laughs, “I'd love to grab some juice with you.”

He doesn't remember when someone called him 'Sammy' the last time, weirdly he likes how it sounds coming out of Dean's mouth. With a sigh and a smile he can't really fight he shifts his attention back to his laptop and the article on paranormal sightings, already regretting he asks for a date. (No, he doesn't.)

-

In the end it's relatively easy to find a guideline on how to kill a ghost and armed with that knowledge, a lot of salt, gasoline and two crowbars they make their way back to the office-building, ready to find whatever remains are left of the companies founder who's now making 'unproductive' workers commit suicide. Turns out, though, that getting rid of a ghost might be easy in theory, but in practice it's a pain in the ass, especially since the ghost clearly doesn't want to die... again, definitely? Whatever, they get it done, and no one else dies, even though they're both slightly bruised and bloody.

Sitting on the floor, heaving, and hurting in various places from getting slammed into walls, Sam doesn't remember ever feeling that _great_ before. He saved people, made the world a better place, and the adrenaline that's still in his system from the fight is making nearly high. Laughing he turns to Dean who sits on the ground beside him, the same emotions Sam's feeling all over his face.

He doesn't know who moves first, but they're suddenly crashing into each other, lips meeting lips and tongues meeting tongues, and Sam's about to push his hand under Dean's shirt, finally finding out if his stomach is as muscled as it looks like in those clothes, when he remembers where they are.

“We maybe should take this somewhere else, don't want to be caught by a security guy without my pants.”

“Definitely,” Dean agrees and instead of getting up, or stopping, he goes back to kissing Sam, and fuck, is that distracting. 

“Seriously,” he groans.

“Yeah, you're right, my place.” And with that Dean's getting up, and Sam nearly considers saying 'screw it' and just blow Dean in one of the restrooms, it's just a ten minutes drive, though, and Dean's bed definitely looked like it was worth it.

-

A ten minutes drive never felt that long before, well, they make it in seven, thanks to Dean flat out ignoring the speed-limit. They walk in respectable distance from each other through the main hall, Dean giving the night watch a small nod (fuck, how rich is he? Sam doesn't remember ever personally knowing someone who lived in a place with security), and then they're finally back in the apartment.

For a moment Sam's afraid it's going to be awkward, that they only kissed due to the fact that they had nearly died, but then Dean's hand are on his shirt, pulling it over his head. 

"I hate this color," he growls and Sam only laughs, because yes, who doesn't.

Dean's shirt is harder to get rid of and Sam eventually stops his efforts and concentrates on his own clothes, that's far more efficient, anyway. When they made their way to Dean's ridiculous big bed they're both naked and Sam definitely wasn't wrong when he assumed that Dean will be absolutely perfect under his suit and tie, in fact only an angry red scar-tissue on his shoulder that's weirdly shaped like a hand makes him look not completely God-like. Sam stops in his tracks then, this scar seems familiar, and it definitely shouldn't, even if they met before, he doesn't get time to give it more thoughts, though, since Dean shoves him down on the bed and lands on him.

"Wanted to blow you ever since I first lay eyes on you," Dean says between kisses along Sam's neck and chest, slowly trailing down.

"Yeah? Thought you 'weren't interested'?" Sam asks, already feeling his dick harden under the promise.

"Didn't want to get into that horrible flirting game you had going on, but this body, definitely wanted that."

"How n-" But his answers gets lost in a surprised gasp since Dean doesn't seem to be the guy who goes slow, instead he swallows Sam down right to the hilt. He stays there a few seconds until he has to come up for air and Sam's seeing stars. "Wanted to say something, Sammy?"

"Just keep doing what you were doing," he breathes and Dean compiles.

It's fast and messy and Sam doesn't remember ever getting such a good head, nor coming that hard. When he recovered somewhat he pushes Dean off of himself and is about to crawl down, but Dean only shakes his head hastily, grabs Sam's wrist to pull his hand down to his dick and instead kisses him.

It's his own taste on Dean's tongue, that and the slightest hint of ashes, and when he starts to pump the thick dick in his hand Dean moans into the kiss, so low that Sam feels the vibration of it in his own body.

Dean doesn't last long, either, and when he comes and Sam looks into his face he realizes that this feels familiar, too. 

-

They fell asleep just right then and there, Sam half on top of Dean, both of them sticky with cum and burned out from the fight. When Sam wakes up they haven't moved and a glimpse to the alarm on the bedside table tells him it's still in the middle of the night, which seems unreal, considering how much has happened since they left work yesterday around noon. He gets up then, stumbles into the bathroom, uses the toilet and finds an unused toothbrush (what kind of person owns an unused toothbrush?) and a washcloth to clean his skin with.

After, he immediately sets off back to bed, stops though, when he realizes Dean might not want him to stay over. Is it normal to stay over when you've killed a ghost together and then got each other off? He hasn't done this before, and not just the ghost killing part, he has always talked about expectations before he slept with someone, now however he is lost. Maybe he should just leave a note-

"Come back to bed," Dean grumbles, sounding still half-asleep.

Relieved Sam does as he's told and as soon he has crawled under the blanket Dean presses himself against him, lazily kissing his shoulder.

"How can you be hard again?" Sam asks half amused, half shocked when he feels Dean's erection pressing against his hip.

"Have you seen yourself?"

"You certainly didn't since it's dark."

He hears a chuckled coming from Dean and instead of an answer a hand is placed on his dick. "Fuck," he lets out when Dean starts to jerk it, still sensitive from coming not two hours ago.

"You don't seem uninterested, either," Dean states, sounding smug.

And it's true, Sam already feels all of his blood rushing south again. "How about you stop talking and fuck me instead," he suggests. It sounds weird, coming out of his own mouth, but Dean doesn't seem to mind, on the contrary, the noise he makes is close to a moan.

"Excellent idea."

They shift until Sam lies on his stomach, legs slightly spread, and Dean kneeling beside him, opening him up slowly, finger after finger, Sam's objections he's more than ready getting ignored. When he's certain he's going to explode with how desperately he needs _more,_ Dean finally rolls a condom onto his dick and replace his fingers with it. 

While Dean's cock felt great in his hand it feels perfect in his ass and Sam can't stop himself from letting out a stream of incoherent words that are hopefully not a declaration of love. Dean keeps up the slow pace, and it's somehow unexpected but better than whatever Sam imagined it to be. 

At some point Dean pulls out again, before Sam can protest, however, he gets turned onto his back and Dean slips right back in. The new angle makes him moan embarrassingly loud, Dean hitting his prostrate with ever stroke now, his own legs around Dean's hips giving him better leverage to move himself. That combined with the intimacy of having Dean so impossibly close, their lips brushing with every other move, makes Sam nearly crazy, it feels like it's too much, like this is all he ever wanted. He takes hold of his dick then, jerks it a few times until he's coming again, white-hot and all consuming, and sending Dean over the edge with him. 

When Dean leans down to kiss him again, gently and with a smile on his lips, Sam's chest tightens, and he can't decide whether it's in a good or in a bad way. 

They fall asleep then, in a tangle of limps, and Sam dreams of Dean once again. 

-

They eat breakfast in bed which Dean claims he normally doesn't but since the sheets need a change anyway it doesn't matter. For a moment Sam considers asking who'll do the changing, Dean or a maid, thinks better of it, though, he doesn't want to know. He slept with his boss and he sort of waits to regret it or for Dean to kick him out, but nothing like that happens, instead they're sitting next to each other idly, eating the omelette Dean made and drink coffee that tastes better than anything Sam had in a long time.

It's domestic, weirdly so, and yet it's nice, perfect even, just like it isn't the first but the hundredth meal they share and Sam can't stop pondering the _why._ For the last few weeks he knew deep down that something was wrong, and he couldn't put his finger on what exactly made him feels this way, but yesterday, hunting a ghost, sleeping with Dean, being together, that somehow opened his eyes to what he was missing, and so he doesn't even hesitate to say, "We should keep doing that."

"Definitely," Dean winks, mouth stuffed with omelette.

"No, I mean yes, but that's not what I meant. Hunting that ghost, it felt right, and you know I had all those dreams, and I think I'm starting to realize they weren't dreams at all."

"What else are they supposed to be? Visions?" Dean huffs, yet he stops lifting his mug midair.

"Maybe, or some sort of weird memories. I don't know yet, but what I know for certain is that this isn't a coincidence. We were starting at this company on the same day, running into that ghost, me having these 'dreams'... I feel like I know you, not just that we met before, but that I _know_ you. And I can't just ignore all that and go back to normal."

"So what do you want to do?" Dean asks with small eyes.

"I don't know, we found all these reports of strange deaths and disappearances, what if that were ghosts, as well? We could help those people, Dean, save them."

"And your plan is what? Driving around the country, hunting ghosts? Living in what, _motels_?"

"Yeah, why not?" Sam shrugs, surprised by the way Dean nearly seems angry.

"Why not? I can't just quit my job. "

"Why not?"

"What? Because I worked my ass off for it!"

"So? You don't seem happy." He doesn't know why he says it, what makes him so certain, he just is.

"Fuck you, we met two weeks ago, hadn't had a real conversation before yesterday, don't tell me if I'm happy, you don't even know me."

"Yes, I do. And you know me, too, I see it. That's what I'm trying to say here, something is off, and I need to find out what it is."

For a moment Dean is completely silent, then he says, "You're totally crazy."

"Oh, fuck you," Sam growls, putting his plate onto the night-stand and pushing the silky blanket away, "I'm not up for this right now."

"What are you expecting of me? That I'm calling in to quit like immediately? Hit the road after breakfast?"

"Not right, now," Sam groans, looking for his jeans that he got rid of somewhere here, "But soon, yes. I don't know. I get that it sounds crazy, but I've never been so sure about _anything._ It's what I'm supposed to do, and I think we should do it together. Don't you feel that, too?"

"Where are you going?" Dean sighs instead of answering.

"Home. I need fresh clothes."

"We need to be at work soon."

"Yeah, who cares?"

"Let me drive you then," Dean suggest, about to get up.

"No, thanks, I'm calling a cab," and with that Sam makes his way over to the front door.

He's aware that what he said was indeed a little crazy, running off together to hunt supernatural beings, and he shouldn't blame Dean for not being all on board with it since it's only sensible, yet he does. Mostly, because he saw in Dean's eyes how much he wants it, as well.

-

Today feels like the longest, most horrible day in a long time, and it's not even noon. There are people dying out there, being killed by ghosts and whatever other stuff Sam saw in his dreams is real, and he's sitting here, writing reports and counting numbers as if it matters. When the fifth person calls him because they need help with their computer without even having fucking turned it off and on before calling him, he has enough. He doesn't know what makes him do it, but suddenly he's standing up, holding this _phone from hell_ in his hands and smashes it onto his desk until it's nothing but unconnected cables and plastic.

"I quit," he elaborates, looking into countless shocked faces, and then he just leaves.

He doesn't remember when he felt that carefree, that liberated, like he does the moment he steps out into the sunshine, leaving this soul-sucking-monster of a company behind. His phone beeps with an incoming text message, and surprisingly it's from Dean.

_You are crazy, but fuck it, I'm in._

The grin that's tugging on Sam's lips is that of a little kid on Christmas morning, and he can't wait for Dean to step out of these doors, too, and join him on this insane, wonderful quest to save people.

Then, he remembers.

-

His name is Sam Winchester, he grew up as a hunter, his parents died, his girlfriend died, then he died and Dean went to hell to bring him back. It's painful, his whole life is nothing but pain and angst and worry. He remembers those last months, getting Dean back, who claimed to have forgotten about what had happened to him in hell until he revealed the truth. ("It were four months, but it felt longer, and shorter, time doesn't have a meaning down there. They tortured me, picked me apart until nothing was left, and then it started all over again. They offered me a way out, but I refused. I refused for so long, Sammy, I did, I promise. But then I didn't. I picked up the knife and was the one who inflected pain, and it felt good, it felt so _good_.")

Sam remembers angels who made him lose his faith in God despite being the confirmation that there is one. One of them, Castiel, raised Dean out of hell, and then he wanted to murder thousands of people when they weren't able to find and kill a single person among them.

There's Ruby and her blood and his need to find Lilith, not just for revenge but because she's breaking seals to set Lucifer free, starting the apocalypse, while he sat around and answered phone-calls for weeks. Those last weeks in which he had forgotten who he was, and yet he still ended up hunting, together with Dean, whom he slept with, whom he's in love with since he's fourteen, who's his brother and who doesn't know about any of this. He considers running.

-

"We need to talk about it," Sam says after hours of strained silence and Dean looking anywhere but at him.

"No, we don't," Dean growls, teeth pressed together and hard lines around the eyes.

The thing is, Sam doesn't want to talk about it either, because he wanted this, wants this for more than ten years now, but not like that, never like that. He feels like he made Dean do it, forced him into it, despite it were angels, one named Zachariah in particular, who wiped their memories and replaced them with this nine-to-five nightmare. The Winchesters have the proud tradition of not talking about things until everyone can pretend they've forgotten them, _this_ won't be silenced so easily, though, not when Dean looks like he's about to throw up for two hours straight, now, and Sam's insides still turn hot when he thinks about what happened. (Dean blew him, Dean fucked him, Dean kissed him. This can't be undone, and he won't ever forget that, no matter how many angels are messing with him.)

"What ha-"

"Shut up, Sam! Okay, just shut up," Dean snaps, letting out a long shaky breath, "I can't do this right now. I need t- fuck, not now, okay."

"Okay," Sam nods. He might want to throw up, as well.

-

They head for a bar without even looking for a motel first, which is unusual, but it's not like they haven't slept in the car before, and Sam definitely needs a drink just as much as Dean does, so whatever. Dean, however, only drains one beer before picking up the next best woman who tipsy enough to fall for his horrible lines, and then he disappears with her into one of the restrooms. It's like he wants to have whatever trace of Sam is still left of him to get fucked away, and Sam gets it, he does, it still hurts like hell, though.

-

Apparently, instead of finding a way to kill Lilith and therefore stopping her from breaking the seals and starting _the fucking apocalypse,_ the angels rather play mind-games and Sam's got enough of that. He's a hunter because he wants to save people, at least they're little trick confirmed that, and sitting around and waiting for a heavenly intervention won't do that, so he grabs his phone a few horrible days full of silence later and calls Ruby.

"Thought you were dead," she says, and it sounds a little pissed.

"No, just taken some involuntarily time off. I still need to find Lilith, you're in?"

"What about Dean? Thought he doesn't let you out to play, anymore."

It should piss him off, instead he feels a smile tugging on his lips, "You're in?"

"Of course I'm in, and we don't have much time left."

-

"You're drinking fucking demon's blood?" Dean shouts and Sam doesn't remember when he's seen him that furious the last time.

"It makes me stronger, and I need to be the strongest I can get in order to kill Lilith," Sam says, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible.

Dean's pacing up and down the room in front of him, his fists twitching as if he wants to hit Sam, and maybe it would be for the best. They haven't done that for years, but dad made them spar nearly daily, and when all the anger and angst of being a teenager got the better of them they just let it out, breaking each other's noses not just once. Sam always felt like shit afterwards, guilty and shameful, and he knows Dean felt the same, even though he never admitted it, but they were fine after, all those fights and reason to be mad at the other forgotten.

"It doesn't matter why you think you did it, this bitch is feeding you her blood, turning you into her fucking killing machine! And it stops, now!"

"You were gone, Dean," Sam snaps, not so collected, anymore, "And I tried everything to bring you back and nothing worked. Killing Lilith was the only way to do that, and Ruby helped me. And now Lilith is breaking the seals, and again me using my powers is the only way to put an end to it!"

"No, it's not! I don't care what Ruby told or promised you because she's a _demon_ and demon's lie, that what they do. Fuck, don't you see how wrong this, if you weren't my brother I would..."

"What then, huh? Would we talk about what has happened back in our little angel-fantasy-lives?"

"Don't-" Dean starts, but Sam interrupts him. It's been days of strained silence and not getting looked at or even talked to besides a few necessary words, and he has enough. "Why not talk about it? Because it's _wrong_?"

"Yes, because of _exactly_ that!" Dean stops pacing then, halting in the middle of the room directly in front of Sam, glaring like a mad-man, but at least he's looking at him now.

"That's bullshit," Sam huffs, "When has anything in or lives ever been normal or _right_? We grew up without a home or a present parent, you killed your first ghoul when you were _fourteen_. We never did anything by train to be hunters, _killers_. I had demon blood inside of me all my life, people are dying around us. Nothing of this was ever fucking _right._ "

Dean doesn't say anything to that, but the look in his eyes got impalpable softer.

"What happened there, what we _did_ there, it didn't feel wrong."

"Sam," Dean hisses, and it sounds like a warning.

"No, we can't ignore it forever," Sam says and gets up, slowly taken the few steps separating him from Dean, "It felt right, and I know it felt right to you, too."

He places his hand on Dean's cheek, cautiously, and when he doesn't flinch or push Sam away, he lets his hand there, tracing the lines around Dean's eyes with his fingers. He considers leaning in, just kissing Dean and continue where they've left, but the way Dean's teeth are pressed together and his shoulders are tensed tells him it's not going to happen.

"I need to do this, Dean, I need to kill Lilith and there is no other way. I'll stop the moment she's dead, but we don't have a choice here. It's not about me or you, but about _everyone._ "

"No, you can't. I won't let you."

"What do you want to do, then? Lock me in?" Sam asks, lowering his hand.

"If I have to."

"Fuck you." He turns around, trying not to show how disappointed, how hurt he is. He grabs the bag he packed earlier and suddenly hears the distinctive sounds of a gun being unlocked behind him. "You won't shoot me, Dean."

“Don't you dare to walk out of that door!”

Without turning around he leaves.

-

“Trouble in paradise?” Ruby asks, grinning lazily.

“I'm not talking about that,” Sam grumbles. They're on their way to kill Lilith, to stop her from breaking the last seal, and he's anxious enough already, he doesn't need to be reminded of his last conversation with Dean.

“Oh, so there is.”

“Shut up, Ruby.”

“Don't be like that,” she pouts, "I'm sorry okay, I'm just worrying about you.”

“You are?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course, come on, don't tell you haven't taken me into your heart after all that we've been through,” there's an involuntary smile tugging on his lips, “You have you big sap.”

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“We'll get through with it and then everything will be fine again, okay,” she says, placing her hand Sam's shoulder.

“Yeah, let's hope so, but whatever happens," he sighs, "Thank you. For trying to help, and... everything.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. It's us against the world now, isn't it.”

-

“What's happening?” he asks, looking at the blood running out of Lilith's dead body and forming a circle on the floor.

“He's coming,” Ruby whispers, eyes wide and gleaming.

“What? No, we stopped it!”

“Oh, don't you get it?” she laughs, “She was the last seal, you did it, you broke it.”

He shakes his head, remembers Dean's words, ' _She's a demon, she's lying, that's what they do.'_ “No.”

“Did you really not realize it? This was your destiny, that's why Azazel gave you his blood, why he made sure you trained your powers, so that you can set Him free,” she's walking over to Sam, presses her forehead against his and places her hands on the back of his neck. Touching her never felt so wrong. 

“You lied to me,” he states, still not able to wrap his head around it. How could he have been so blindly trusting? Why didn't he listen to Dean? To the voice inside his head warning him about something being off?

“There wasn't any other way, you weren't ready, you would have never gone through with it. But it doesn't matter now,” he pushes her away, but she still continues, “He will be so thankful, don't you see it? He'll reward you! Us! It will be a new world, and we'll build it.”

“I trusted you! With my life! And you did all of this start the fucking apocalypse!”

“No, you don't get it-” But he's done with listening, with letting her words lull him into submission, he raises his hand, concentrates on the black smoke behind her eyes, tries to grab it, destroy it, destroy _her_.

“You shot your wad, Sammy,” she snarls, “So, stop this bullshit and be grateful that you can be part of that!”

The doors spring open then, and Dean storms into the room, eyes wide and shacking with rage. Instinctively, Sam grabs Ruby, holds her still despite her struggles, and Dean runs towards them, trusting her old knife into her stomach, and with an angry scream she dies.

“He's coming,” Sam whispers, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Then, everything turns to white.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Castiel wasn't really in this chapter, but don't worry I haven't forgotten about him like the show-runners did. During my very first watch a few years back I thought he was kinda meh, but now I'm really starting to appreciate him and his trench-coat, so I'm totally looking forward to write him into this.


	6. season five

The second Sam's certain his eyes will melt under the bright, white light in front of him a weird sensation takes hold of his body, and he finds himself on a plane.

"What the fuck happened?" Dean asks next to him, the same fear all over his face that Sam's feeling.

"I don't know."

Then, they see the explosion in the town beneath them.

-

It's his fault, he set Lucifer free, he started the apocalypse, there's no coming back from this. He tries to concentrate on making it right, on undoing his mistakes, but it's hard to forget about his guilt when Dean looks at him with a mixture of disappointment and disgust at all times.

" _You're on the wrong path_ ," Castiel told him when they saw each other for the last time and Sam didn't believe him.

"You were right,” Sam now says, looking at the angel who saved his life and who seems to be the only one of his kind trying to avert the world's end.

Castiel doesn't ask what he's talking about, he might be able to read minds, Sam's still not so sure about the extent of angelic powers, considering that they completely wiped their minds and formed new memories it seems likely, though. "We were both on the wrong path, blindly following orders of the ones we've trusted." It feels like forgiveness and for the first time Sam sees in Castiel what he imagined angels to be when he was still a kid and blindly believing they were ought to protect humankind.

-

The days prior to killing Lilith Ruby had kept him constantly high on her blood and now, nearly two days later, Sam starts to feel the withdrawal. It's not the first time he has to go through it, before, however, he was only ever in a sour mood, his body and its limited abilities alien to him after the surge of power that the blood gave him, and it was never like _this_. He's shaking like he's coming done with a fever, he's sick in his stomach and his head hurts like someone is pushing nails through his eyes. He wonders if she did it on purpose, giving him so much that he'd suffer under the ultimate fall down. If he's honest with himself he realizes, she probably didn't plan on him surviving and it hurts to even think about it.

Over the course of the last few months he started to enjoy her company, started to _like her_. He trusted her in ways he never did with anyone before, and that makes her betrayal so much worse. " _I wanted to build a new world with you_ ," her voice echoes somewhere in the back of his head, " _You and me together, and you killed me instead, after everything I've done for you._ "

He's glad she's dead, yet he still misses her. (Or maybe it's just her blood, he isn't sure anymore.)

-

He can't hide how bad he's feeling from Dean, never could, and when it gets worse, so much worse that he throws up every drop of water he swallows, he's nearly about to ask Dean to stop at a motel and let him rest there for a day or two. He doesn't, though, because the way Dean refuses to look him in the eyes, and the way his lips turn into a bitter, nearly invisible smile whenever Sam groans under the pain in every fiber of body makes it obvious that Dean thinks he deserves this, and he's right about it, isn't he.

"You chose her over me," Dean states one evening, breaking the too loud silence between them.

"I thought it was the only way to save the world. It wasn't about her, never about her, I thought I needed to do it." It's a weak defense, yet it's the truth, at least he hopes it is.

"Doesn't matter, I asked you to stay, and you left to be with her. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

That might be Sam's worst sin.

-

Despite everything, he can't stop thinking about what Dean's skin tasted like, or about how it felt to kiss him, or how he fitted into Sam like they were made for each other. (Years ago, when Sam hadn't quite realized yet that these feelings he had for his brother weren't normal, and when he was still young enough to let himself be indulged by daydreams and fantasies, he thought that they truly were made for each other. That it was always supposed to be Dean and him, no matter what, that nothing could ever come between them. He knew nothing about life back then.)

Dean thinks about it, as well, not that they talk about it, but it's all over his face when Sam's shirtless or coming out of the shower, only dressed in a towel, and how could Dean not think about it? How could he not regret that he fucked his little brother when he not just turned out to be a monster, but to be the one who started the end of the world.

Bobby gets put into a wheelchair, the angels tell Dean he's destined to be the Michael's vessel who'll then stop the apocalypse, Castiel turned his back on heaven and is now trying to help them to put and end to all of this by finding God, and Sam can't stop thinking about how his brother's lips felt around his cock. He can't keep going like that.

-

When he sees Jo again after nearly a year of radio silence Sam realizes that he successfully ruined the only friendship he had on top of everything else. He remembers her voice-mails in all clarity, even though he deleted them right away, and when the mess that brought them back together settles around them, he sees the same anger in her eyes that he heard in her every word.

"I should've called," he says weakly when they find themselves in a quiet corner.

"Yes, you should've," she hisses between gritted teeth.

"It's not an apology, but I... At first, I just couldn't bear to talk to anyone, and then I started to spiral, I was in a awful state- I think I just didn't want to drag you down with me."

"I'm not a child, I can't decide for myself whether I want to be 'dragged down'."

"I know, I didn't mean it like that, okay. Fuck, I just didn't..." he sighs, suddenly lost for words.

"You didn't give shit about me."

"No, Jo, that's not-"

"One call," she growls, "Or email, whatever, that's all I asked for, and you couldn't even do that."

"I know, and I'm s-"

"Don't say you're sorry, I thought you were dead! I was scared. And you of all people know what it's like to lose someone, how could you do that to me?"

He sees tears pooling in her eyes, but they seem to spring more from her anger than anything else, and she's right to be furious, she is. Thinking back he isn't sure what made him ignore not just her calls but Bobby's as well. Maybe he was worried that they'd somehow heard in his voice what he was doing, even in those early days subconsciously aware that the road he had taken would lead him to nothing but regret and despair.

"I did things... I thought I was saving people, but deep down, well, I knew it wasn't right. I couldn't have you find out."

"What did you do?" Her voice is suddenly thin, hesitant.

"I can't tell you." He can, he's just a coward.

She sighs, "I still miss you, you know. This life... It's lonely, and without sticking together we won't get through this end-of-the-world-crap, but when it's over," she pokes her finger into Sam's chest, "You're going to tell me what happened."

"Okay," he says, feeling his shoulders sink in relief, it's more than he had dared to hope for.

"Doesn't mean I'm not still pissed."

"Understood."

"Now give me a hug you gigantic asshole."

-

There were times they were angry at each other before, it never did, however, effected the way they worked. When they were on a hunt they forgot about their quarrels and shifted in some sort of survival mode, having each other's back in order to make it out alive. This time, though, it's different since Dean doesn't even spare him more than two-word-sentences when they find themselves face to face with War himself. Of course, he still does everything to keep Sam safe, over twenty years of being told it's your first and foremost priority left a trace, but Dean seems to be close to just beating Sam into a pulp and neither of them can continue like that. (Sam might even welcome the beating, take it without complaint, just to have Dean be a little less angry, a little less disgusted.)

"I think we should part ways," Sam mutters, "It's not working after what I did and after... What happened." They haven't acknowledged having sex with each other out loud since Sam left for Ruby, and Dean now visibly flinches.

"Yes," he says after a few seconds, "I think that's a good idea."

And Sam tried to brave himself for that, for Dean wanting him gone, but nothing could've him prepared for the utter hopelessness he feels hearing those words.

"Okay, I'll get my stuff, and I'll... Yeah."

Ten minutes later he sits in Rufus' truck, all the while Dean hasn't said another word, and Sam didn't expect that. He was nearly sure Dean would agree with him that it didn't work out, anymore, but he expected some kind of protest and the lack therefore hurts more than leaving itself does.

Looking into the rearview-mirror he foolishly hopes for Dean to run after them, for asking Sam to stay after all, but Dean already stands with his back turned to them.

-

He considers hunting on its own, but immediately rejects it since his urge for demon blood is still ever present, and he's scared he'll give in again when no one's there to keep an eye on him. At least the nausea and the pain stopped, and he's merely left with the desire to feel as good, as powerful, as he did when he was high on Ruby's blood, however, he doubts it would help with the horrible guilt he feels.

After two days of just driving aimlessly in the car Bobby gave him, he finds himself in some shithole of a town and decides to stay because what else is he supposed to do? While walking the streets to find a place to grab something to eat he sees a sign in the local bar's window that they're hiring, and he walks in with a fake ID in his pocket, and comes out half an hour later with his first real job in nearly three years. It's stable and keeps his mind off of thinking too much. He's still sleeping in a motel, though, painfully yearning for his brother in the empty bed next to his.

One of his co-workers, Elliot, asks too many questions, from the moment Sam set a foot into the bar suspicious of his story, yet he's so charming while ignoring Sam's refusal to answer to any of them, that Sam can't stop himself from finding it endearing. After a shared dinner during which Sam vaguely admitted to having an addiction, they fuck in Elliot's flat, and Sam tries desperately to tell himself he didn't just hook up with the man because of his broad shoulders, blond hair and green eyes make him look somewhat like Dean.

Giving it some more time it might've turned into more than sex and carefree conversations, but then one of dad's old contacts shows up, hunting some demons in the general area, and when he comes back from said hunt it's with a dead friend and vengeance in the eyes. Turns out demons apparently like to brag with who exactly set Lucifer free. The looks Elliot gives him after it's over, hands still on his throat where the knife pressed into the skin only minutes ago, tells Sam he can't stay in this town any longer. So much for a normal life.

-

Later that night, after he had packed his belongings and drove a few hours before the exhaustion got hold of him, and he rented a room for a some hours of sleep, he dreams of Jess. He hasn't dreamt of her in a long time, especially not of her alive and happy, and guiltily he realizes that it's been days since he even _thought_ about her.

"I miss you, Sam," she says, and he tells her he misses her, too, and for a moment he wishes he was back at Stanford when the greatest worry on his mind was whether he'll get a good grade on a paper.

Of course, he can't have good things, not even in his dreams, and after Jess described in her bright words that they could be together again, that she could make the pain stop, her faces changes and turns into that of a man Sam has never seen before.

"You just have to say yes, Sam, leave me in," he whispers.

"Who are you?" Sam asks, already knowing the answer.

"This body will fail me soon, but not yours, you were made for me. It's you Sam, your destined for me."

" _No._ "

"Oh, why are you making it so hard on us? You will give in eventually anyway."

"I won't."

"You won't? Well, we'll see, won't we?" Lucifer grins and in the blink of an eye he's gone.

-

He's asleep when his phone rings for the first time in over a week. It's not late at night, at least not so late that the call can only mean bad news, still Sam's heart is racing and then just stops completely when he sees the caller ID.

" _Dean_ ," it's not much more than a breath of air.

"Hey, Sammy."

"What happened?" A part of him thought he would never hear this voice again, especially not so soon, and he dreads Dean's answer.

"Nothing," a sigh, then, "Did I wake you?"

"No," he lies, aware Dean won't believe it for a second, just like Sam knows that the 'nothing' is a lie, as well.

"I shouldn't have called."

"It's alright," Sam says hastily, afraid Dean will hang up again, "I'm... How are things going?"

"Great, fine. Killing monsters and stuff, you know." Dean sounds exhausted and slightly drunk and Sam wonders if it's one of those nights in which the memories are keeping him awake. (He wants to be with Dean, desperately, wants to make him forget, make them both forget.)

"Yeah. I don't, at the moment."

"Bobby told me. Why aren't you?" It might be an accusation, Sam isn't sure.

"After what I did? Didn't seem to be such a clever idea."

"Fair enough," Dean grunts and Sam feels his lips twitch into an involuntary smile.

A few seconds of silence, then he asks, "Why did you call?"

"It's just too damn quiet in here and I-" Dean stops himself, audibly swallows instead.

"Yes, here too," Sam says instead of the ' _You've sent me away_ ,' that's on the tip of his tongue.

"My fucking thoughts, man, too loud without you snoring three feet away. I'm not used to it anymore."

There is so much Sam wants to say, starting with ' _I miss you_ ' and ending with ' _Please let me come back_ ', but he doesn't, too afraid of what the answers will be. "Tim was here."

"Dad's old 'friend'?" He practically hears how Dean puts the word into quotes. Their father never had any friends, just like Sam doesn't either.

"Yes, he... Demons told him about what I did and he- he tried to kill me."

A lot of noise that could be he fist hitting a wall or something heavy being thrown to the ground, then he hushed, " _Motherfucker_."

"Dean-"

"Is he dead?" comes the question between gritted teeth.

"No-"

"Good, I'll kill him, I swear-"

"Dean! Fuck. Calm down okay. I just told you so that you watch out, word will get around, and he's probably not the only one who'll be looking for me." He remembers Gordon who kidnapped Dean in order to get his hands on Sam. In retrospect, it would've been better for everyone if Gordon had been successful.

"I won't let him-"

"We would've done the same. His friend got killed, the world is ending, and he found the one who's responsible for it. We would've done the same."

After a few seconds in which he only hears Dean's too loud breathing, "It's not your fault. You didn't know, you killed Lilith to stop it, not to start it. You're a fucking idiot who didn't listen to his family and rather drank a lying bitch's blood, but it's not your fault."

It is, but Sam's not going to argue since it's the closest to Dean forgiving him he'll probably ever get to. There is still his dream, and he has to tell Dean about it, he wanted to, but he can't, not now, so he bites his tongue instead and uselessly says, "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know you are. Now go back to sleep, starting to feel tired myself."

Sam doesn't close his eyes for the rest of the night.

-

He doesn't dream again, not of Jess, not of Lucifer, not of anyone, and that's somehow even more terrifying.

_-_

Three days later Dean calls, sounding tired and confused and tells Sam they need to talk in person. They agreed on meeting in a place close to both of them, and Sam's on the whole eight-hour drive, which he makes in six, twitchy and thankful that the highway he's taken is nearly empty. While waiting in the recluse parking lot he's on the verge on throwing up, and when the Impala eventually pulls up in front of him he considers running. (Of course he doesn't, how could he with Dean only a few feet away from him after not seeing him for nearly a month.)

When Dean steps out of the car Sam gets up automatically and for the split of a second they both lean in for a hug before thinking better of it and nodding awkwardly at each other. They haven't touched, not since they recovered from their angel infused memory loss, and Sam's painfully aware of how much every cell of his body screams for just crashing itself into his brother.

"So, what happened?" Sam asks while they're sitting down on the single bench. Dean looks even more exhausted than his voice sounded on the phone, hard lines around the eyes and mouth.

"Fucking angels," he mutters and Sam nods since he expected Castiel's magic wouldn't protect them forever from those assholes, especially considering that they need Dean's body for their purposes.

"I dreamt of him- Lucifer," Sam says because there is no point in hiding it any longer, "Saw him rather, it wasn't a dream, not really at least. He wants my body, said I'm... I'm his vessel."

Strangely, Dean doesn't look appalled, not even surprised for that matter, he simply states, "Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Fucking angels, they- Well, it doesn't matter. They're after the both of us now, and they won't give up until we said yes, or we've sent them all back to where they came from. Together we stand a better chance."

“Does it mean you let me come back?”

“Never sent you away,” Dean disagrees, even though they both know he did, it doesn't matter that Sam was the one who put it into words.

-

“Why Dean, why me?” he asks Castiel when he sees him again. In the month that Sam was gone Dean seems to have worked with Castiel regularly, at least the sudden familiarity between them suggests it, and Sam can't stop himself from feeling jealous. He's aware that it's pathetic.

“It's in your blood,” comes the inevitable answer, and Sam hates hearing it, hates being reminded of that he's rotten, always has been. “No," Castiel continues, "It's not simply because Azazel fed his own to you, this was merely one step in the direction, preparing you for what is to come. It's your destiny, written down before you two were even born.”

“You don't make any fucking sense, Cas,” Dean growls from the other side of the room.

"All that has a beginning has an ending, as well, and when God created humankind and Lucifer rebelled your demise was inevitable. The only uncertainty was the when, but now the two of you have not merely broken the first and last seal respectively, you're a mirror to Michael and Lucifer. The older brother, loyal to the absent father, following his path, while the younger rebels, working against his nature."

"So what, they gonna use us as their meat-suits to re-enact their family feud, and we don't even get a saying in it 'cause it's our destiny?" Dean huffs and Sam sees the fear in his eyes despite the tone of his voice.

"You certainly have a saying in it since this is the whole point; freedom of will. God gave you the one thing that he denied us, which consequently led to Lucifer scheme a revolt. You were pushed into the 'right' direction by both sides, your mother being killed, your girlfriend also when you turned your back on the family," he looks at Sam, no trace of empathy in his eyes, then he turns to Dean, "me raising you out of hell. All of that set you onto the path yes, but in the end it were the choices you made that brought us here."

-

They fall slowly back into their old rhythm, both of them always on guard with their words and not getting too close to the other, but it's soon nearly like it has been before, nonetheless. The plan is to find and kill the devil, the problem is, though, that they don't have the faintest idea to where they should start looking, and they can't compete with Castiel's investigation abilities anyway, so they work regular cases instead. It's just after they've finished one of those when dad's old phone rings.

Sam argued several times it's pointless to keep it charged with their father being dead over three years by now, Dean insisted on it, though, and shoots Sam a 'told you so'-look when he picks up the phone. However, his triumph only lasts for a few seconds since the guy on the other line claims to be John Winchester's son. They immediately leave with Dean raging about it being a ploy to lure them into a trap, and Sam doesn't even begin to argue they maybe should stay off of it then, Dean's never listening to reason when he's in a mood like that.

The guy, Adam, turns out to be a normal human, who has no idea monsters exists and whose mother disappeared a few days ago, and therefore tried to reach out to his estranged father. It's an awkward affair, meeting a half-brother you've never known you had and looking at all those pictures he has of him and John together. Sam is... he can't put a name on what he's feeling, but he definitely isn't surprised, for all that he knows he could have siblings in every state, it's not like their father ever told them anything about himself that wasn't directly linked to hunting.

Dean, on the other hand, is livid, slamming the door to their motel room shut with a bang when they return to it for research and a few hours of sleep, directly aiming for the fridge.

“He seems to be a nice guy,” Sam notes in a weak attempt to start a conversation.

Dean only huffs for an answer, grabs a beer, uncapping it in the same motion and emptying half of it.

“It's not Adam's fault we didn't know about him,” Sam says because he saw the looks of murder in Dean's eyes earlier, and they're agreed on meeting Adam in the morning, it doesn't seem fair to confront the guy with Dean's clearly boiling anger on top of everything.

“I don't care about the damn kid,” Dean snaps, “Or don't knowing he existed, hell, for all I care it could've stayed that way.”

“Then what? Are you really pissed that dad slept with some woman after mom was dead for-”

“Fuck that, he took this boy to fucking baseball, Sam!”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “So what? What was he supposed to do?”

“I can't believe it,” Dean laughs, and it sounds more bitter than anything, “You spent years bitching about how unfair dad treats you, and now you're just totally fine with him going off to play house with some kid.”

“I don't know,” Sam sighs, “I think I should be angry, jealous maybe, but what's the point? Dad didn't want to suck the kid into this life, wanted to keep him safe, and so he took him to a baseball match a few times, whatever.”

“He didn't fucking get you anything for your birthday since you were seven, didn't show up to any of them since you were five and for this Adam he cleared his schedule for a week to take him somewhere nice Every. Fucking. Year.”

“He did the best he could,” Sam mumbles, and it feels weird, being on their father's side for once when Dean is the one who's furious. Sam has spent the majority of his life being angry and disappointed by his dad, downright hated him sometimes, but ever since dad died he can't muster the strength. He would never get so far to call John a good father, however, he knew what was waiting out there, and not for the first time Sam wonders if his father was aware of what the Yellow-Eyes had done to him that night his mother died, and therefore knew that there was no escape. Their father was an asshole about it, but all he ever did was to protect his sons, and in retrospect this seems more important than missed birthdays, moving every few weeks, and not getting any bedtime-stories.

“He did _shit_. He fucked us up, destroyed every chance we had to a normal life, and look where it has brought us; the fucking apocalypse. And not just that angels and the _devil_ want to get their hands on us because dad 'did the best that he could', it ultimately let us to starting the end of the world in the first place!”

It's a stretch, to blame it all on their father when heaven and hell did everything to push them into the direction from the beginning, and when it was Sam who _decided_ to use his powers and to not listen to his family warning him not to. There is something else that bothers him more, though, “You never wanted a normal life.”

For a second Dean looks confused, then he shakes his head, clearly pissed, “I never got a shot at one, so what I was supposed to do? Cry about what I could never have?”

“You could have left with me for Stanford,” Sam states, remembering with a sick feeling in his guts the night dad kicked him out and Dean only stood by.

“Oh yeah, how that, genius? I never even finished high school, I don't think your fancy, rich-people school would have taken me in.”

“Doesn't matter, you still could have left with me, build a life there.”

“Well, you never fucking asked,” Dean snaps and from the look of it immediately regrets it.

“Dean,” Sam says hesitantly, confused, “You would've never said yes.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles and Sam doesn't know how the conversation has so suddenly shifted to _this_ , how they were talking about their father's failings one minute, and now about Sam's own.

“No, that's not fair, I know I shouldn't have left back then, and especially not like this, but you can't blame _me_ for you not getting out as well.”

“Not blaming you,” Dean says defensively.

Sam takes the few steps separating them, slowly, but Dean doesn't move an inch, merely looks at him wide-eyed. “I would have-”

“Just forget it, Sam, okay.”

“Dean,” he sighs, and following an instinct he reaches out, places his hand on his brother's shoulder. It comes natural, they were always physical, rather comforting with touch than with words, and Dean leans into it, letting out a deep breath.

And only now Sam realizes how much he truly missed this, not just the carefree conversations and having Dean close (in his bed), but those innocent touches, as well. A small pat on the shoulder, a hand squeezing a knee under a table, an arm thrown around the backrest while driving. Dean evidently missed this, too, it's all over his face, and for the split of the second Sam's certain they'll merely take it from there, moving closer and continuing where they left off before the angels, before Dean went to hell, before dad died. However, Dean snaps out of it just then, jerks away under Sam's hand, hard lines around his eyes and lips.

“I'll go grab a drink.” He's halfway to the door with two steps, grabbing his jacket. Sam wants to protest, they still have research ahead of them, but he's barely opened his mouth when Dean's already gone.

-

They get a shot on killing the devil, literately since they've found the colt again. Getting there, however, isn't that easy; Ellen is torn to shreds by hell-hounds (Dean is pale after, and visibly fights bile working its way up his throat, and Sam can't blame him), Castiel disappears without a sign, and the fucking place is swarmed with reapers. In the end they still make it, though, and for a few glorious seconds Sam certain they _did it_. Lucifer's lying on the ground, smoke coming out of the hole in his forehead, and Dean's grinning in triumph, and then-

“You really thought it would be that easy? Well, nice plan, I'll give you that, unfortunately I'm one of five in the creation who isn't effected by this thing.”

“We're gonna find another way,” Sam snarls through gritted teeth and flashes a glance to Dean and Jo who're lying unconsciously, but thankfully visibly breathing, a few feet away from him.

“Don't be like that, Sammy! I'm actually pretty sure you're going to say yes to me soon. Six months from now, to be precise, and I think it'll happen in Detroit.”

“I'll never say yes.”

“I might remember you telling the dear, old demon-girl the same thing, or am I mistaking there? But don't you worry, a lot can change in six months, and I'm _really_ looking forward to it.” Castiel reappears then from where-ever he went to and gets them out of there. Sam has never been so happy to see him.

-

On their drive back to Bobby's Jo sits motionless on the back seat, staring out of the window with blank eyes and tears running down her face. Sam wants to say something, anything to soothe the pain, meaningless, promising words that it's going to be fine again. He can't, though, not when he's spent four months refusing to mourn his brother and trying everything to get him back.

Bobby's drunk when they arrive, and all three of them are following his example in no time. On a good day Bobby resents being bound to a wheelchair, on a day like that, however, there is something in his eyes that makes Sam's stomach uneasy. “It wouldn't have changed anything, you being there. You couldn't have saved her.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say since Bobby only huffs and sets off to his room, shutting the door audibly behind himself.

Time passes and time stands still, and it might be in the middle of the night or early in the morning when Sam finds Jo just sitting on the big rug in the middle of the living-room, slumped into herself and holding an empty bottle to her chest. Hesitantly, Sam sits down next to her and for a second he debates whether he should put his arm around her shoulder when she sinks into him, burring her face into the crook of his neck. He places his hands on her back, rubs, what he hopes, soothing circles into her skin and whispers sweet nothing into her ear. It doesn't help, neither with her pain nor with his own.

They stay like that for a while and when her breathing has evened out he asks, “Do you want to call Maureen?”

“We broke up,” Jo whispers in a hoarse voice, and Sam realizes he hasn't heard her speak ever since Dean has carried her out of the store in which her mother stayed behind, already more dead than alive and determined to take as many hounds with her as possible. Jo had screamed then, screamed and shouted and called them all kinds of names while hitting every inch of Dean she could reach, Dean who only hold on tight and let her.

“Why?” he asks, even though he thinks he knows the answer.

“Newsflash, it's _Apocalypse Now_. Couldn't just sit around and play house while the world is ending, could I.” It's not the first time that she reminds him of Dean, but now the resemblance is nearly painful, and Sam is about to tell her that it was his fault, that he did this, but Jo has already been through enough, she doesn't need the added weight on top of that.

“She might still like to hear from you.” He saw the looks those two gave each other when Dean and him had visited, so happy and in love, and he can only imagine what Jo told Maureen upon leaving, how much it hurt both of them.

“No, she won't.”

Either a miracle will happen soon, or the world truly is going to end and Sam doesn't want Jo to spend those months miserable and mourning not just her mother, but a lost love as well, yet he lets the matter rest for now, at least until the morning. Instead, he untangles himself and says, “I'm getting us a blanket, starting to get cold.”

She nods, absently, and when he returns with all the blankets he could find she hasn't moved an inch. He throws the pillows from the nearby couch onto the carpet and simply lies down then and there, pulling Jo with him. Her head is heavy on his chest and her closeness is comforting, and at some point he thinks they both have drifted off because he feels himself flinching when Dean suddenly stands to his feet.

He went out earlier, said he'd take a walk, and now he's shivering all over and Sam doesn't know what makes him do it, but he reaches out with one hand, and, surprisingly, Dean takes it. For a moment Sam thinks he's dreaming, but then he feels Dean's body solid and real next to him, mirroring the way Jo's lying on his other side, with the only difference that Dean places his head an inch from Sam's on the pillow.

Turning his head he looks into his brother's face, and Dean must have used his walk to drink himself nearly stupid because he suddenly places his hand on Sam's cheek. It feels intimate, too intimate, and Sam melts into the touch when Dean starts to stroke his skin with his thumb. His stomach is nearly boiling with the effect this simply motion has on him, and he's certain it's all over his face, still it doesn't make Dean stop.

Instead, he leans in further, rests his forehead against Sam's, their lips only millimeters apart. And it takes everything to not just close that last, invisible barrier as well, because Sam could do it now, he's certain Dean won't push him away, would let him do whatever he wants. But they're drunk senseless, especially Dean, and Jo's still sleeping with her head on Sam's chest, and if he crosses that line now there will be no coming back. Whatever this is, whatever this could be, Dean won't forgive him for that, not when morning comes, and he sees clear again, so Sam takes a deep breath, inhaling his brother's smell a last time and says, “Sleep, Dean.”

The look on Dean's face, the moment Sam turns his head to the other side again, might be one of relief.

-

He relapses, it's not his fault, not completely at least. Famine was in town, since fighting against one Horseman already apparently wasn't enough, and he sent two demons after Sam who sat chained up in a bathroom, half-crazy with _need_ as it was. The craving is always in the back of his mind, most days, however, he's able to ignore it (no, not ignore it, but he lives with it, moves on, other issues on his mind). However, since Ellen died, and they drove to Maureen who just silently thanked them while cradling a weeping Jo in her arms, it gets harder by the day to not just find the next best demon and cut it open. The devil's words are constantly on his mind, ' _Six months from now_ ', and he can't stop dreading, that it's the truth.

“It's my fault,” he groans, throwing the blanket off of his damp body. He's going from freezing to overheated in the matter of seconds, and it's exhausting, yet the shaking and nausea don't let him sleep.

“It's not,” Dean protests weakly, “You couldn't fight it, even Cas couldn't.”

“You could.”

“Nothing to be proud of,” Dean mumbles and holds a glass of water to Sam's dry lips who struggles to even swallow a mouthful.

“What?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“Dean-” Sam tries, but gets choked by his stomach cramping around the water and his attempt to keep it down.

With a sigh Dean sits down next to him on the bed, “Move over, Sasquatch.”

“I'm gross,” Sam says, and means 'We don't do this anymore, the night after Ellen's death was a drunken exception'.

“You're always gross, Sammy,” Dean reminds him, making it sound obligatory.

He forgets about the answer that is already on the tip of his tongue when Dean lies down and plasters himself to Sam's side, placing one hand on his shoulder. “It'll be over soon, you just have to work it out of your system.”

“Sure,” Sam mumbles. He is nearly able to ignore his aching body over Dean's gentle touch.

-

An old friend of their father's calls and since they got again no potential lead on the devil, or the angels, or let alone God for that matter, they get themselves admitted to a mental hospital to find a monster that allegedly kills the patients. Unfortunately, they somehow missed the part where being in a fucking mental hospital means that they're forced to take part in therapy sessions. If it weren't such a devastating reminder to how fucked they are, Sam would find it hilarious that all it took for them to get a one-way-ticket inside was to tell the truth about their lives, and when he finds himself in his first private session he just doesn't give a damn, anymore.

“I'm in love with my brother,” is his answer to the question of how he's doing, and if that doesn't sum it up perfectly he doesn't know, either.

“You are?” the doc asks, expertly hiding the shock he's certainly feeling.

“Yes, since I was fourteen. Didn't think I was in love, back then, but looking back on it... Well. And I tried to stop it, I really did. I was in relationships, I even wanted to marry my last girlfriend, but none of them made me forget about Dean,” and damn, does it feel good, to finally admit to it out loud.

“Okay,” the doc answers and scribbles down a short note onto the file in his lap, “And why are you in love with Dean?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, there's usually a reason why we fall in love with someone, certain characteristics or behaviors that make us fall in love with them.”

Sam more or less expected to be diagnosed with yet another condition, or simply be put into a straitjacket immediately, and the matter-of-fact way the doc now wants to know the 'why' unsettles him, “I don't know... He's- He's _everything_. Always has been. We were more or less on our own growing up, at least most of the time, and Dean took care of me. I know it makes this whole thing sound even more horrible, but- he's my life. At one point I just started to notice how attractive he is and... my mind didn't stop there. It's not about that, though.”

“About what is it then?”

“I simply love him,” Sam shrugs, “There is no place in this world I want to rather be than by his side. He's a pain in the ass, sometimes, most of the time, actually, but...” Sam shakes his head, trying to sort out his thought, “He's a great person, you know. He doesn't see himself that way, but everything he does, he does so that other people are safe. I admire that, and I'm feeling good when I'm with him, like _myself_ , and I wouldn't trade being with him for anything.”

“You're always together?” The doc's still perfectly laid back, just like he's listening to people talking about their incestuous desires every day, and it's unnerving.

“Now, yes. I left when I was eighteen, went to college. My father he... Well, I didn't talk to them for four years, then my girlfriend died and dad disappeared and Dean and I were back together. The moment he stood in front of me I didn't know how I lasted so long without him.”

A nod, nearly understanding, then, “Does Dean know how you feel about him?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why?”

“Why? 'Cause I can't possibly tell him.”

“Okay, but you said the two of you are always together, right?” Sam nods,”And the way you talked about each other during our first conversation it seemed that there's not really anything you don't know about the other. So, do you think it's possible Dean's aware of your feelings even though you never explicit told him?”

“No.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Yeah, what makes him so certain? Sam Wesson wanted to run away with Dean Smith after one night together, how wasn't that obvious, and Dean keeps his distance ever since, eyeing Sam differently. “He would send me away,” Sam states, “He wouldn't want to stay with me any longer.” But Dean did send him away, didn't he, only the end of the world made him allow Sam back. A sick feeling starts to spread inside his stomach.

“You want him to know? Consequences set aside.”

“Yes,” Sam says without giving it a second thought. They really need to get out of here, preferably yesterday.

-

He dreams about that one Christmas at the Wrights, and it's cozy, he feels pleasantly stuffed, joking along with those kind people, and he's just happy that he isn't dreaming about blood and death for once. Then Dean shows up. “What are you doing in my dream?" he asks, already getting up and looking out for whatever thing will tear Dean to shreds this time.

“You're not dreaming,” Dean says and Sam doesn't understand what he means until he suddenly does. Tim's and Walt's faces, the shotguns, an unbearable pain in his chest, then nothing.

“Where are we?” He takes the few steps towards Dean, checking his body for any kind of injury, the Wrights behind him keep chatting on, obviously not noticing the stranger in their dining-room.

“Heaven.”

“Are you... Are you sure?”

“Yeah, spoke to Cas over at my own little memory. By the way, what's that?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow, pointing at the still oblivious family.

“Uhm, the Wrights, you know, that Christmas you and dad couldn't make it.” Well, the Christmas _Dean_ couldn't make it, they father didn't bother for years at that point, but taking Dean's anger upon the whole Adam-revelation into account it might be for the best to not remind him of their father's failures yet again.

“Sure,” Dean mumbles, an unreadable look on his face.

“So, you're really sure we're in heaven? Like, that _I_ am in heaven?”

“Of course you are, what's that supposed to mean?”

“Last time I checked I did some fucked up shit, remember? I didn't expect to ever get here, that's all.”

“Yeah, and that's bullshit, Sammy. Now, come on, Cas said we need to find some road that leads to a guy who might know where God is,” he's already turning around while speaking those last words, just like he can't get out of here fast enough.

-

Witnessing Dean's memories is painful, partly because it makes him realize that his brother has always tried to clean up their father's mess, but mainly because Sam meets his mother for the first time. It's not her, not really, but seeing her through Dean's four years old eyes, observing the way she embraces Dean and tells him that she loves him, makes him feel more by the word 'mom' than a weird sense of discomfort and indifference, he always felt when dad or Dean talked about her. Of course, he knew that she was real, that she loved them like a mother loves her children, but for the first time he really feels that love.

His own memories, on the other hand, are of a completely different kind, and the only thing linking them together is, “Wow, Sam, your best moments are without your family. Just wow,” Dean notes bitterly.

“I didn't pick them! I don't have any control over it.” He's actually as surprised as Dean is. Sure, these are good memories, and he doesn't have a mental top-five, but if he had one to five would definitely be Dean. On the other hand he's glad, though, he's got a vague idea what kind of moments he would live through, and he really doesn't want Dean to be present for that.

Well, all things considered he should have been prepared for what comes next.

He immediately knows where they are when he sees that uncomfortable, white leather couch, illuminated by the moonlight shining through those wide windows. Dean next to him tenses, and of course he's perfectly aware where they are, as well, he lived nearly a month in this apartment, after all.

"Come back to bed," Dean grumbles, sounding still half-asleep. But it's not the Dean standing just two feet away, it's a clearly naked Dean, lying under silky sheets and grinning at Sam suggestively. They all know what comes next.

Sam runs.

-

In the end they get resurrected with the realization that God has left, that he doesn't care about his creation anymore, and with the crushing awareness that they're doomed. All of that doesn't even matter because Dean saw, Dean knows.

-

The last thing Sam wants is to be confined in a car with Dean, but for all that they know Tim and Walt could still be around, so the only sensible thing to do is to get as fast and far away as possible. (At first Dean's determined to go after them, to pay them back, but Sam stops him with the reminder that they don't kill people. It's not entirely true, they involuntarily killed a few to destroy the demons inside them, but they never did it willingly, and that's a line Dean can't cross, _won't_ cross. Sam, however, did worse things already, and if the world won't end, which is a big 'if', he will go after them.) Thankfully, years of strained car-rides taught them one thing; ignoring the latest fight or reason to be mad until they've reached yet another shitty motel where could avoid each other again.

When they finally pull up onto the parking-lot of said 'another shitty motel' Dean surprises Sam, however, by saying upon taking their bags inside, “Let's grab a few beers in that bar down the road.”

Strangely enough Sam doesn't even feel nervous on that five minutes walk to the bar, on the contrary, a weird sense of relief has taken hold of him ever since he decided earlier that day he doesn't give a fuck, anymore. For more than ten years he's hiding those feelings, and he's tired, so tired, and taking the way things are at the moment into account he'll be dead a few months from now, anyway. Dead or worse.

Dean orders them beers and shots, and after they've thrown them back he gets another round, immediately, and that's more than alright for Sam, it might minimize the chances of Dean beating the living shit out of him.

“I can't forget about that night,” Sam eventually says, glad about the too loud music blaring from the speakers that makes it nearly impossible for anyone to listen into their conversation.

When Dean gives him a look that seems to say, 'Obviously,' Sam adds, “And I don't want to.”

“Sam...” Dean sighs, it sounds as much as a warning as it sounds defeated.

“I can't ignore it any longer. That night... I know it wasn't us, but it still _was_.”

“It should have never happened.”

He was prepared for that, it doesn't make it any easier to hear it, though. “But it did happen.”

“Yes, and I'm fucking sorry. I should've never...” Dean shakes his head, looks into his beer as if he might find a solution for this mess on the bottom of it, “I should have _known_. I should've known who you are, that this wasn't real, I should have recognized you, I should've- _fuck_.”

“They wiped our memories, we couldn't possibly remember.” But Sam still did, at least he dreamed of his life, about Dean, and he still wonders why. It might've been Ruby's blood, or a job done slightly wrong, whatever it was, a tiny part of him is afraid that deep down he knew and that this was the reason he slept with Dean, perfectly aware that it would never happen any other way. He won't share this thought with Dean, though, not now, probably not ever.

“Doesn't matter, still should've protected you.”

“Protected _me_ , what are you even-?”

“Fucking hell, Sam! I fucked you,” Dean growls and immediately lowers his voice when the guy at the table next to theirs turns his head in confusion, “I've fuck my kid brother, I was supposed to take care of you, not _that_ \- Never-.”

“You didn't know,” Sam repeats and when that doesn't smoother the lines on Dean's forehead, “Besides, I'm not your ' _kid_ brother'. I'm twenty-six, haven't been a child for a while now.”

“Still did that to you,” Dean argues and with a sick feeling in his stomach Sam starts to realize where Dean's getting with all of that.

“You didn't do anything to me. We were both in on it at the moment, _I_ definitely was. I don't know what you think you did there, but I wanted it. Shit, it was my fucking place in heaven, that night was...” It was all he ever dreamed of, but he somehow can't say those words, not when Dean can't even meet his eyes.

“It doesn't change the facts. I still did this to you.”

For a few seconds it's silent, then Sam asks, “Do you regret it?”

Dean's eyes widen, “Of course-”

“Forget about what happened after, that we started to remember who we were, that night itself, do you regret it?”

“You're my brother, it's wrong,” he says it fast, just like he repeated it inside his head like a mantra, like Sam himself did for years.

He remembers a similar argument he had with Ruby, and he hates that he thinks about her at that moment, but for what it's worth, she helped him to accept a few things about himself. “When has anything in our lives ever been 'right'?”

“You can't compare that.”

“Why?”

“Because you just can't, Sam. Why do I have to explain that to you?”

“Because I don't want to think back to that night and remember it as something 'wrong' or 'bad', because it wasn't. It wasn't, Dean. I woke up, and I wanted to run away with you. And I still _do_ , nothing has changed. Every day I wake up and just want to be with you. We're in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, Lucifer wants to use my body as his new outfit of the week, I'm addicted to demon-blood, everyone I love dies around me, my life is shit. But it doesn't matter, none of that matters as long as you are with me.” He feels tears welling up in his eyes, he doesn't know where they came from, yet he doesn't bother with blinking them away.

“Sam,” another sigh, longer this time, “You're everything to me, you know that, but we can't cross that line.”

“We already did.”

“We didn't know who we are back there,” Dean reminds him, and if this were any other conversation he would smile in triumph over hoisting Sam with his own petard.

“We're crossing that goddamn line for years now! Sleeping in one bed? Whatever happened that night when you caught me jerking off and neither of us stopped? We crossed that line long before we turned into those guys, and we're tiptoeing around it ever since, and I can't keep doing that any longer, Dean. I can't. I'm fucking exhausted, I hide all the time, pretend it doesn't mean anything, and it kills me.” He's going too far now, too much too soon, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore. The tears are running freely over his cheeks, and he feels pathetic, and that doesn't matter either. All he can concentrate on is the pained look on Dean's face, that and Dean's slightly trembling hand on the table between them.

“What are you saying?” And he hates Dean then, for making him say it out-loud, for not just getting it, for not just getting it when Sam still wasn't sure what all of this meant himself. Because Dean is supposed to know him better than anyone else, to know him better than even Sam himself does.

“I wanted it. Having sex with you. Long before that night.”

Dean's shoulders sink then, just like hearing this makes him let go of some of the tension he's always holding onto. He doesn't get up, neither does he hit Sam, nor call him a disgusting freak, actually, Dean does nothing, only stares at Sam.

“Say something,” it sounds like a plea, it probably is one.

“Let's get back to the motel,” Dean says and Sam's heart misses a beat.

-

It might be the longest walk Sam's ever taken. The silence between them is heavy, and Sam's certain he's going crazy any second now when they've eventually, finally, reached the door to their room. He hasn't quite closed it behind them when he already feels hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the wall, and he thinks, that's it, now he's getting the beating he deserves for so long, but instead of fists he feels lips on his own.

It's a desperate kiss, and it takes Sam five whole seconds to catch up on what's going on, only to melt with an undignified, little sound right into it. One of Dean's hands sneak into his hair, titling his head down so that Dean can particularly ravish his mouth with his lips and tongue. Sam stops thinking then, merely places his own hands on Dean's back and pulls him closer until they pressed together head to toe.

Later, he doesn't remember how long it lasts, but at some point Dean slows down, more or less lazily tracing Sam's lips, his hands playing absently with his hair, and then they stop kissing entirely.

“Didn't know I'd do that,” Dean mumbles, still close, foreheads pressed together just like their bodies. Only then Sam realizes that he's painfully hard against Dean's stomach and for the split of a second he wants to jerk away, then he feels Dean's own erection against his thigh, though.

“What was the alternative?” Sam asks slowly, his brain still trying to process that it's Dean's cock, _hard_ , against his leg.

“Dunno, drive off until I could think again? Talk about why the fuck we really cannot do that? Lock myself into the bathroom and beat myself up about wanting this?”

“You want this?”

“Thought that was obvious,” Dean mumbles, and entangles himself. Sam wants to stop him, but thinks better of it, and stays where he is, still panting, while Dean sits down on the bed in front of him. “I can't, though.”

 _You just did_ , Sam nearly says and bites his tongue, afraid that the words coming out of his mouth will be entirely different ones.

“I want it-this... I want you. Fuck, it's so wrong, Sam, so fucking wrong, but this night... I hate myself for even thinking about doing this to you, but I really, really want it,” Dean lets out a laugh, and it nearly sounds hysterical, “I want to figure this thing out. With you. I want to do it _right_ , well, however 'right' it can possibly be, but I can't to this with the end of the world on the horizon. Everything's falling down around us, and we're not one step closer to putting an end to this, and we need to focus, _I_ need to focus. And I can't be doing that with this happening,” he points between himself and Sam back and forth.

“Okay,” Sam says. It's not okay, he wants Dean to fuck him into the mattress right then and there, but Dean saying this is still more than he's ever hoped for, and he _gets it_. All of this will mean shit if Lucifer takes over his body. (“ _It'll happen in Detroit._ ”)

Dean nods, a small smile on his lips. “We're a pair of fuck-ups, aren't we?”

“Always have been, always will be,” Sam agrees, then he adds, “Do you sleep in my bed tonight?” He probably shouldn't ask, not after what Dean just told him, but he can't bear the thought of Dean lying so close to him but not within reach. He's aware Dean didn't say no, that he didn't reject Sam, yet it starts to feel like it, and the comedown from that kiss leaves his body nearly shaking.

For a moment it seems like Dean will refuse, but then he mutters a small, “Of course.”

They lie down in one of the beds after a short, silent bath-routine. On a normal occasion those beds are way too small for two grown men, but now that they're deliberately trying to keep as far away from each other as possible, the proximity is nearly unbearable. Sam starts to regret it, not just asking Dean to share, but telling him the truth in the first place. He never dared to imagine Dean reacting any other way than in disgust and anger, but this ' _not yet_ ' might even feel worse. He still seems to feel Dean's lips on his own, and it was really Dean this time, not some brainwashed HR-guy, but _Dean_ , and now they're lying inches apart, back to back, and it's like whole worlds are in between them.

"You okay?" Dean asks after a while, rolling over so that Sam feels his breath against his neck.

"Yes," and then because he doesn't even believe it himself for one second, "No."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I am, I..." an arm slings around Sam's middle, hesitantly at first, and when Sam doesn't protest he gets pulled back against Dean's chest, "It's hard, this whole thing, wrapping my head around it, but I didn't say no, Sammy. It's not a no."

"It's okay," Sam mumbles, involuntarily leaning back into the warm, naked chest behind him.

"I'm not a... I don't do relationships, I don't know how those work, and I'm afraid I'm gonna fuck it up, fuck us up."

Sam lives with this fear for nearly a decade now, so he understands what Dean's saying, he does, doesn't mean he's happy with it, though. "Just promise me you won't hate me," he asks.

"Never, Sammy, never."

-

Nothing changes. Everything changes all at once. The strained silence of the last months is replaced with a nearly pleasant one, where not long ago only short, awkward glances would have been exchanged between them, genuine smiles have taken their place, and instead of moving away from each other any given opportunity, those innocent, affectionate touches found their way back into their lives. Just that every one of Dean's touches leaves Sam now breathless and with an electric prickling under his skin because _Dean wants him too_. It's the sweetest torture imaginable, finally being able to give in, but not quite.

Dean was right, however, about not rushing into this, the devil is roaming the earth for months now and the signs of the coming end are getting more and more frequent. They're hardly able to catch their breaths anymore, stumbling from one demon-outbreak to a plague they've never even heard of before. It leaves them with no resources to put their minds on anything else, and a bone-deep exhaustion. Whenever they're able to catch a few hours of sleep they lie down in one king-sized bed, wrapped around each other, both of them free from nightmares for the first time in a year for days on end despite everything.

They only ever sleep, no kisses and no touches that could lead to more, yet Sam finally feels like Dean is fully and irrevocably _his_ , not afraid of the next woman or other hunter to take his brother away from him, and it's enough. At least for now.

-

Shit hits the fan when Castiel calls them one night, breathless and not even letting a second pass to teleport into their motel-room, as soon as they've told him where they're staying. “They've got your brother.”

“Adam? Why?”

“Apparently they consider the possibility of him being Michael's vessel.”

“But I am Michael's vessel,” Dean says with the same confusion in his voice that Sam feels.

“It's not optimal, but John Winchester's blood is in his veins and Sam is brother, it could be enough.”

“So, where is he? We have to get him out of there, before those dicks give him cancer or take away his lungs or whatever fucked up shit.” Dean's already carelessly throwing their stuff into the bags and stops the process when he's only getting a tensed look from Castiel instead of an answer.

“It's a trap,” Sam concludes slowly.

“So what?” Dean asks, obviously getting impatient with neither of them moving.

“I can't listen in on them ever since they've banished me from heaven,” Castiel says, “Yet I heard them talking about Adam and where they're going to bring him. There is no other explanation to this, but them wanting me to hear it so that I'll take you to them. They're going to make you say yes this time, Dean, they're getting desperate.”

“Yeah, and if we don't get Adam out of there _he_ is going to say yes, and then what, Cas? Worlds gonna end anyway, getting him out of there is our only chance.”

“I might not be a suitable vessel after all.”

“So, we just let him die? Fuck that, he's still family, and we're getting him out of there. Sammy?”

He hesitates, “If the angle capture you... I don't know whether-”

“No, we're not arguing about whether it would be better to let our brother _die_. We're leaving. Now.” With that Dean's setting off to the door, and he's right, Sam's aware of that, but he still really doesn't want to do this.

In the end Dean doesn't say yes. Adam does (and Sam hates himself for being grateful).

-

 _“When you see this it means I'm dead,”_ the Archangel says on the DVD he left them before throwing himself onto Lucifer, _“Yeah, yeah, I know, you two are heartbroken, but stop the useless crying and focus now. You can't kill the devil. Sorry, to break it down to you, but there's no point in trying. What you can do, however, is to throw him back into his little cage because this thing is still there. And the best thing is, he isn't even aware of that! The only thing you need are the rings of all four horsemen, easy right?”_

And with that Sam suddenly knows what he's supposed to do, and taking the pale look on Dean's face in he does as well.

-

“No,” Dean says, hands gripping the wheel tight, and eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“I didn't say anything,” Sam mumbles even though he's aware of what Dean's referring to.

“You're thinking about saying yes, and it's not gonna happen.”

“We might not get another chance.”

“We will. And even if we don't, I don't care. You won't be giving your body over to the devil to try jumping into the cage. It's not gonna work.”

“It might, I think I'll be strong enough-”

“We won't even talk about it, do you hear me,” Dean growls.

They'll need to talk about it, though, probably sooner than later, but Sam shuts his mouth then because there's no point in arguing with Dean when he's like this. The thing is, Sam doesn't _want to do_ it, he hasn't gone mad after all, despite a lot of the stuff he did lately pointing in that direction, yet a weird sense of calmness has taken over his mind ever since they've watched that tape a few hours ago. It seems like everything in his life, all the pain he went through and all horrible decisions he made, led him up to this point, and it's now on him to either end the world or save it. While thinking those words he realizes that he might as well have gone crazy, but that is the least of his problems right now.

“You won't be just dead, Sam,” Dean whispers when it's already getting dark outside, “You will be in hell, locked in with the devil. My time there will be a walk in the park compared to that.”

Well, what is one soul against six billion of them?

-

Their time is running out and Dean's still refusing to take the only way out into consideration, his ignorance won't last for much longer, though. He told Sam about what he saw when the angels had sent him five years into the future, where a virus had turned the majority of humankind into zombie-like creatures and the world into a desolate wasteland, and they're speedily approaching day x.

“I need you to promise me something,” he tells Castiel when he's sure Dean won't be walking in on them, “When... I'm gone Dean cannot try to bring me back. Last time I died he sold his soul, he can't- We can't risk Lucifer getting out again.”

“I take this as you being determined to follow through with this plan?”

“It's not like we've got another one, is it? Just... Please keep an eye on him, he can't go down there again, not ever.”

Castiel nods slowly, “I'll do my best.”

-

They were able to get the missing two rings and locate where the devil will be two days from now. _Detroit_. Sam's still strangely calm despite that limited amount of time he's got left, but he's glad about it, he'll need all the strength he can muster to fight Lucifer once he has taken over his body. In the end it was Bobby who convinced Dean to agree to it after all, and the two of them are currently inside, stocking up weapons and everything else that could come in useful before they're all leaving in the morning.

It's late in the evening when Dean steps outside and comes over to where Sam's lazily sitting for hours now, sipping beer and just looking at all those cars he jumped around when he was still a kid, remembering that one, wonderful summer they were allowed to stay here.

Dean's got a small smile on his lips that won't quite reach his eyes, and when he comes to a halt in front of Sam he places his big hands on his shoulders and says, “Let's leave.”

“To where?”

“I don't care, Bahamas maybe? Get some rays of sun on that pale skin of yours.”

Sam only huffs at that, and takes hold of Dean's forearm to pull him down and make him sit on the old, rusty bench beside him.

“I'm serious.”

“Sure, you are.”

“Imagine it, Sammy, the two of us, cocktails in hand, lazying in the sun, going swimming in the sea.”

It's a nice picture, and for a second he thinks about how they could've had that if he never had trusted Ruby, but he can't allow himself that line of thinking, not now. Instead, he turns his head to look into Dean's face, finds him with his lips pressed together and a plea in his eyes. “We can't, I would love to, but we can't.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“No, tell me; why not? No one will stop us if we get into the car right now and leave. We'll drive to the next airport and take a plane to where-ever. They won't be able to find us.” It seems like Dean spent the last hours, maybe even days, thinking about it, he isn't even drunk, and Sam's nearly surprised he didn't see it coming.

“The world is going to end, Dean, it won't be mattering much where we go to when everyone turns into a zombie. We have to stop him before it gets worse.”

“We don't, Sammy, seriously. I'm sick of it, sick and tired, and we don't owe anyone shit. All we ever did was ignoring what we wanted to save people. And I'm done with it. Let the angels take care of it, or Michael, or some other dudes on a suicide mission, or no one at all, I don't give a flying fuck anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” Sam says, taking Dean's hand into his, “You do, you've always done, and if we're getting into this car right now you'll regret it. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but as soon as millions of people start to die like flies while we didn't do anything to prevent this. And you'll hate me then, but more importantly you'll hate yourself, and I won't let that happen.”

“I can't let you throw yourself into the pit, you know I can't,” Dean argues, and it's at this moment that Sam realizes how right Dean was, when he said they couldn't take this any further after that kiss, that is still on Sam's mind every second of every day. He isn't afraid of dying or going to hell, it's merely the fact that he's going to leave Dean behind that makes him doubt his plan in his weakest hours, and he isn't sure if he'd be able to get through with it if they didn't stop after a kiss that night. He's dreaming of possessing every inch of Dean, in every possible way, all for himself for so long now, that he's certain he wouldn't be able to let go of it again if he every truly have had it.

“But you will,” Sam answers with a smile on his lips that he hopes is reassuring, “We should go to bed, catch a few hours.”

Dean's staying where he is, motionless and a look on his face that makes him appear years younger, and that nearly breaks Sam's heart. “Please, Sammy.”

Sam turns around then, fast and unsure of what he'll do if he stays any second longer. Nothing could ever be harder than this.

-

Dean's hands are on his face, pulling him in, and when their lips meet he tastes the slightest hint of salt on his brother's lips. “I love you,” Dean whispers into his mouth, and it's too much. It's a goodbye and infinite possibility of where this could lead them to all at once.

He places his hands on Dean's neck, feels the warm skin there, and never wants to let got, their lips still pressed together, breathing into each other.

“I know you can do it,” Dean eventually says with a cracked voice, and it's the permission Sam has waited for, and he finally entangled himself from this, from everything.

When he stands in front of Lucifer he says yes, they're in Detroit, exactly six months after the night Ellen died.

-

He's in a pleasant state of merely existing, his thoughts flowing without any direction nor destination, nothing needs to be done, nothing needs to be said, everything is finally how it was always supposed to be. Somewhere in his mind he's aware that he's inside his body, a bystander to what is happening around him, but it doesn't seem to matter, because there is him and there's his body, and those things aren't really connected any longer, if they ever were to begin with, he doesn't remember. And that doesn't matter either because remembering is hard, and painful, and why should he be doing that if he could instead give himself over what will be next.

It's a bloody face that comes to him when he has nearly forgotten what it means to see. The face is broken and bruised and familiar, and he focuses on it, so intensely that he begins to take the face's surroundings in as well. For a moment, an eternity, he fights it because he doesn't want to go back, never wants to leave this place, and then he recognizes his own hands, hitting the face over and over again.

“Dean,” says the voice is inside him, and it's leaving his lips, and he sees his fists, and sees his brother, and sees their car, and he remembers every single day they've spent inside it together, always together.

He gets back into control over his body. It's not so much a decision as a simple, necessary action, and as soon as Sam is breathing again he's aware of the voice in the back of his head, screaming and raging to be let out again.

“It's okay,” Sam smiles, “It's okay, Dean, I got him now. Everything's going to be fine.”

When he stands of the edge of the abyss, ready to let himself be swallowed, he hears both of his brothers' voices yelling, “Don't! Don't do it!”

And he takes hold of Michael, who's looking at him through Adam's eyes, and jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading guys <3


	7. season six part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Dean's POV and only covers the first half of the season up until the point Sam gets his soul back. The second part will be from Sam's POV again (like the rest of the story), and he won't be aware of everything that has happened, so you might wanna skip this chapter if you don't want to get 'spoiled'. I'm actually not a fan of switching POVs in the middle of a story, but I started to write it yesterday and finished in one go and then I thought to hell with it.

“Are you happy?” Lisa asks, her skin slightly red under the relentlessly shining sun, and looking anywhere but at Dean.

He places his hand on her knee, squeezes it reassuringly. “You're at my side, I've got a beer in hand, why wouldn't I be?”

Sighing she leans in closer, and he slings his arm around her shoulder, the tiny bench they bought a few weeks ago creaking under the movement. He hated it from the start, it's a cheap, impracticable thing, and every time he sits down on it he's afraid it's going to give in under his weight, but Lisa loved it, said it would look great in their backyard.

“It's just...” she shakes her head, places a sweet kiss on his cheek, “Never mind.”

“Are you?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” It sounds sincere, and a small part of him wishes it wouldn't.

-

Dean doesn't know what made him go to Lisa's, nor why she even opened the door when she saw him, let alone why she not just let him into her bed but into her life as well. It might have been his dashing looks, or the good memories they shared, memories of weeks spent stupidly in love, still young enough to pretend that this happiness could last forever. It certainly wasn't his mental constitution or the fact that he woke up screaming for the first two weeks.

Whatever it was, he's here now, trying to do good, trying to be a boyfriend and a father and someone who earns his money working a regular job. And he's happy, he is. He is.

-

The first time he cooked dinner for Ben he couldn't stop thinking about all those nights when it was Sam he did this for. Money was tight back then, and there were a few occasions dad left them alone longer than he originally planned to, and it was dry cereal or pasta for every meal for days on end, but Sam never complained. He always looked at Dean with those big eyes, smile on his lips like he was staring into the sun, making Dean warm with pride because at least he got that right, at least he was able to take care of Sammy.

Ben doesn't look at him that way, but he smiles all the same, and deep down Dean wants to go back to those simpler days, when a smiling face could fill the void inside him and trick him into believing that everything would turn out fine eventually, that he wasn't rotten to the core.

-

He didn't work a regular job since he was twenty years old, and he's forgotten how hard it is. All those years on the road made him unaccustomed to following a routine, to get up every morning just to fulfill the same, mindless tasks over and over again. At least it takes his mind off of things, keeps him busy enough to forget about the fact that he's living the perfect life while his brother's not just dead but down in the pit. And he can't be thinking about that, because then he remembers the four months he spent down there himself, four months that made him nearly lose the little grasp of humanity he's desperately trying to hold on. Sam's down there a year now, locked in with the devil, and he will be there for the rest of the eternity.

And Dean isn't thinking about it, he promised he wouldn't try to bring Sam back, would live a normal life, die a normal, boring death, be _happy_ , and how could he keep his promise when he's thinking about the horrors Sam must endure?

-

“We should go somewhere warm over Christmas. Maybe the Bahamas? I don't really care, as long as I don't have to listen to aunt Gertrude's opinion on premarital sex again. What do you think?” Lisa's head is heavy on his thigh, holding him in place.

“Not the Bahamas,” he answers with a flat voice. He asked Sam the same thing, two days before it happened. ' _Let's leave. I don't care where to, the Bahamas maybe. I don't give a flying fuck anymore. Let the world burn for all I care._ ' And Sam said no, of course he said no, because he's the kind of guy who runs into the burning house to save a kitten. Was that kind of guy.

“Okay,” she says, her eyebrow raised in a question she won't be asking, “But you want to? Go on a vacation with us?”

“Sure,” he strokes the skin on her forehead, tries to make the little lines of worry disappear, “I'd love to.”

She smiles, bright and beautiful, and he suddenly realizes that he's never planned that far ahead before.

-

It's not like he ever really followed the news, now he gives them a wide berth, though, too afraid he hears or reads about a mysterious death or disappearance that make the alarm-bells inside his head ring. He was always proud to be a hunter, to save lives, but you can't be a hunter and a family-man, his own father is the perfect example. However, being a hunter was his whole identity, that and being a big brother, and now he's neither, and he isn't sure what it makes him, what's actually left of him when he's stripped of those two things.

Sometimes, when he lies awake and the memories of hell, of seeing dead, mutilated bodies, of Sam throwing himself into the pit, don't let him sleep, he's about to get into his car, that's parked in the garage ever since he came here and that he hasn't lied eyes on ever since, and just drive off. He feels guilty, guilty for having crept his way into Lisa's and Ben's lives, making his fucked-upness their business when they deserve all the good things in this world, and he feels guilty for enjoying this quiet life while people are dying, people he could save if he wasn't so selfish.

He hasn't called Bobby since his first week here, said he needed some time off then, and Bobby agreed, told him to call whenever, and Dean just never did. Likewise, he feels guilty of that too, however, a part of him is afraid of what Bobby will say to him after a year of silence, and 'selfish' will probably one of the kinder things.

-

He sleeps with Lisa regularly, goes down on her until she begs him to stop, and makes sure she comes before he does every time. It's one of the few things he can give her, that he's good at.

Whenever he kisses her he tries to put all his thought into it, to concentrate on her smell and the way her small hands pull him down to her, everything to stay at the moment and to stop himself from remembering what Sam's lips felt like, how the tiniest brush sent shivers all through his bodies. It's harder when he fucks her, when she tells him to go harder, deeper, and all that he can think of is Sam under him, around him, _everywhere_. He didn't know it was Sam then, thought he was a stranger named Wesson whom he just killed a ghost with, thought his own name with Smith and that he never had a brother in the first place. When Zachariah switched the flip again he had a big, ugly grin on his face, and said, “ _We were aware you two are a little too close, but_ that. _You surprise me time and time again._ ”

Dean wanted to forget at first, couldn't look at Sam without his stomach turning in memory of what he had done to his little brother. He spent so much time trying to pretend it never happened, that he nearly convinced that the whole thing was merely another fucked-up wish fulfilment that his mind made up. Up to the point Sam eventually told him that he wanted it too, that it wasn't just Dean who couldn't stop thinking about it.

Dean couldn't give in then, not with heaven and hell breathing down their necks and an apocalypse to avert. He didn't say 'no', but 'not yet', and that might be his biggest regret.

-

When he sees Sam, standing in the garage he hides his car and every trace of his old life in, Dean's convinced he's dreaming. He begins to remember what happened one glorious moment later, feels his throat aching where the Yellow-Eyed choked him. The son of a bitch is dead for years now, just like Sam is dead, so it's not Sam who-

“It's me, Dean,” the thing says, “It's me.” And then he proceeds to pour holy water and salt over his hands and pokes himself with silver, all the while Dean's watching, uselessly frozen in his shocked.

He's across the room before he even realizes that he stood up, and with one motion he's got Sam pressed against the wall, their lips crashing together. There is so much he wants to say, to ask, that he needs to know, but nothing of that matters now, all that matters is the taste in his mouth that's undeniably _Sam_.

His hands wander over Sam's body, as if to make sure it's really him, that he's really here. He feels harder, stronger and Dean curses the layers of clothing between them, desperately wants to get his hands on his brother's naked skin, wants to taste it, make sure it's just like he remembers it.

Sam's hips are bucking forward, he's just as hard as Dean is, but he doesn't really register it because it's Sam's lips against his own, Sam's tongue in his mouth. He moans, it's a pathetic little sound, but Sam doesn't seem to mind, Dean feels him grinning into it instead.

The hands that were in Dean's hair up until now are suddenly on his belt, opening it in one swift motion, and that's somehow what makes Dean snap out of it. He takes hold of Sam's wrists, pulls them off, and breaks the kiss. He stays close, though, not ready to stop touching Sam just yet, their forehead still pressed together, and it reminds Dean of another kiss when his skin burned just as bright in all-consuming want as it does now.

“Not here,” Dean says, breathless. Lisa is in the house, his _girlfriend_ , he nearly got killed a few minutes ago, and Sam should be dead, irrevocably dead. “How?” Dean asks after Sam merely pressed another grinning peck onto his lips.

“I've got no idea. I woke up in the middle of a field without any clue how I got there. I tried to find out what had happened, but I couldn't, so I stopped looking eventually.

The blood flows slowly from his dick back into his brain when he realizes what Sam just said, “Wait, how long are you back?”

Sam hesitates, only for a second, but it's a second too long. “For a year.”

“For- You're back for a _year_?” Dean asks between gritted teeth, taking a step back.

And Sam just shrugs.

“You were alive this whole time? And it didn't cross your mind to give me a call?” A year. He lived with the thought of his brother being tortured in hell for a year, all the while Sam was alive, doing whatever, probably not even thinking about Dean. He feels sick then, his cheeks heating in shame, because Sam wanted to get rid of him and the first thing Dean did was to throw himself at Sam.

“You were happy, you got the normal life you've always wanted. I didn't want you to give that up for me.” Sam doesn't even look like he's sorry, and that makes everything so much worse.

-

“I thought he was dead,” Lisa whispers later that day. Dean doesn't deserve her, and he was never as aware of it as he's now. When he told her they needed to get away for a few days, she only nodded wordlessly and started to pack their bags. Ben on the other hand was irritated, told them he had school tomorrow, as if he didn't pretend to be sick thrice a week. It's not like Dean blames him, though, and for one painful moment he feels like he's sixteen again, having the exact same conversation with Sam.

“Yeah, I did... Yes.”

She doesn't ask any further questions, doesn't make him say out-loud that even his brother wanted Dean to think he's dead so that he could get rid of him.

-

He takes Lisa and Ben to Bobby's, and on the whole drive there he's glad that Sam got his own car now, not sure what he'd do if they were forced to sit in such proximity for ten hours.

Even though he called right before they left their house, Dean almost expects Bobby to not open the door, and he wouldn't even blame him. Instead, Bobby give him one of his rare, nearly invisible, smiles, and Dean shoulders sink in relief. Then Sam walks through the door as well, and Bobby's face goes back to neutral, and he merely nods, “Sam.”

“You knew,” Dean states, horrified, the guilty look in Bobby's eyes all the confirmation he needs.

“You finally got out, you were happy. I didn't want to drag you back into this,” Bobby grumbles, repeating nearly the exact same words Sam said earlier.

' _Did either of you ever consider that I wasn't happy?_ ' Dean wants to growl, but he can hardly say that with Lisa and Ben standing right next to him.

-

Sam and him set off to hunt the thing that attacked Dean, now sharing a car, and it's frighteningly easy to fall back into their old rhythm. Sam looks different, Dean realizes, he not just feels stronger, but he visibly put on some muscles. The way he carries himself is slightly off as well, he seems more assure of himself, inaccessible nearly, and deep down it makes Dean uneasy. He tells himself to get his act together, though, because Sam was in hell after all and that changes a man. Dean would know, no matter how often Sam claims to not remember a thing, because Dean did that too, didn't he.

Besides that it's like only a few days have passed since they saw each other for the last time, and Dean doesn't like to admit to it, but he missed this. Not just being with Sam, but _all_ of it. Being the one who decides when and where he goes to, not sleeping in the same bed for more than a few nights, sitting in his car and enjoy the music and the countryside flying by, the rush of hunting a monster, the satisfaction of killing it, fuck, he even missed the research part. Of course, above all he missed Sam. It doesn't matter that he's still furious about Sam not even giving him a call, that he waited a year to show himself, that he probably wouldn't even have done it, if Dean hadn't gotten himself nearly killed, nothing of that matters, because Sam is by his side again.

-

They kill the djinn that tried to finish Dean off, and as soon as the motel door falls shut behind them, Sam's on his knees, fumbling Dean's jeans open with mud-covered fingers. Dean wants to protest, because they've never done this before, at least not while being aware of who they're, _what_ they are, and now isn't the right time. It's actually the worst possible time, since Dean's with Lisa, and he loves her, and she doesn't deserve any of this. And Sam wanted Dean to believe that he's dead for a year, and Dean's confused, and angry, and so fucking turned on.

Sam's got his mouth around Dean's cock in the matter of seconds, swallowing it to the hilt, humming around it in satisfaction, and Dean's already painfully hard. He imagined this for longer than he dares to admit, got off to the thought of his little brother sucking his dick countless times, and now Sam's looking up to him through his stupidly long lashes as if he's able to read Dean's mind. It's not like Dean's holding back, though, his hands grasping Sam's hair, pulling him even closer, thrusting impossible deeper into Sam's throat. Dean would feel bad about it normally, never allows himself to let go like that, but Sam's moaning, loud and filthy, his hand taking hold of his own dick, jerking it inside his jeans, and Dean's brain shuts down completely then.

He doesn't last long, comes in Sam's mouth before he can pull out, and Sam seemingly doesn't mind, licks Dean's cock clean instead, and when he gets up Dean sees the wet spot on his jeans.

“Gonna take a shower,” Sam says with a crooked grin, and Dean hasn't quite proceeded those words, when Sam's already disappeared inside the bathroom.

-

“I can't leave Lisa,” he tells Sam after he took a shower himself, washing the grime and blood, and traces of what they did, down the drain, “I can't go back to the way it was before.”

“Didn't expect you to,” Sam says with a shrug.

An ugly feeling settles inside of Dean's stomach, it might be regret, or the urge to land a punch right across Sam's face, he isn't sure.

-

“Want to talk about it?” Lisa's sitting behind him on their bed, her hands on Dean's shoulders, stroking the skin there as if he's something precious. He resists the urge to shake her off.

“It's dead, we're save. You're save.”

“That's not what I meant,” she states, and they both know it.

“It was- seeing him was difficult after... everything.” She kisses his cheek and pulls him down to lie beside her. He isn't able to fall asleep for hours.

-

Two weeks later Sam calls, says he needs help with a case. Dean should tell him to go fuck himself, should remind Sam that he did perfectly fine on his own up until now, that whatever he needs Dean for, it's not for a hunt. But Dean was never a clever man, and certainly not a good one, so he tells Lisa he needs to go hunting one last time, and she hides her anger behind a mask of sympathy and sends him off.

-

He fucks Sam that same day, lets Sam barely finish explaining the case before he pushes him down into the mattress, already stripping off his own shirt. Sam bought lube, has it sitting on his night-stand for Dean to see the moment he walked into the room, and Dean would feel played if he didn't intend to do this himself.

It's nothing like their first time. It felt like making love back then, even though they thought they'd only known each other for short weeks, and Dean tried his best not to say that word out loud. Now it's fast and hard instead, nearly impersonal. Sam's on his back while Dean's preparing him, and Dean wants him to stay there, but the moment he pulls his fingers out Sam's on his hands and knees, telling Dean to fuck him already.

And Dean does, ignoring the voice inside his head that's reminding him that this is not just his little brother, but that this is a conscious decision, that there are no excuses this time. ' _We crossed that line long before we turned into those guys_ ,' Sam said over a year ago, and it's weirdly reassuring now.

-

They don't share a bed that night, and it feels wrong. He got so used to Sam sleeping next to him those weeks before Sam threw himself into the pit, that Dean was certain they would go back to it now. However, Sam gets into his own bed as if they didn't have sex a few hours ago. For a moment Dean thinks he's going to throw up, then he realizes how selfish he is, because _Sam was in hell,_ Sam went through the worst horrors imaginable and Dean's moping. When he came back he didn't let Sam even near him for months, and if Sam needs his own bed now, Dean's definitely not minding it.

-

“You won't be staying,” Lisa says when he walks through the door.

“No,” he agrees, even though he didn't know it up until this moment himself.

She nods, defeated. “Just promise me to come back whenever you can.”

“Of course.” They're both aware he's not going to keep it.

-

“You're alright?” he asks Sam during one of the countless days spent inside their car, feeling closer to home that he ever did inside Lisa's house.

“Of course I am,” Sam huffs, a confused look on his face.

“I mean you went to hell, I know what it's like down there.”

“Yeah, well, but I don't remember anything about it, I told you that already.” His tone's getting more and more annoyed with every word, and Dean feels his hands tighten around the wheel.

“I said that, too.”

“But I'm not lying,” Sam answers, fetching one of his books from the backseat, and Dean doesn't ask again.

-

The thing is that they were always close. Not just in the way that they've spent the majority of their time together, but physically as well. Dean realized early on that it wasn't normal, but it was his father telling him he must not do it any longer, that made him stop sleeping in Sam's bed. He was fourteen years old back then, Sam barely ten, and he woke up with a hard-on regularly, that got nothing to do with his little brother, and felt wrong all the same. He was nearly glad when dad took him aside, because he would've never stopped on his own, too focused on doing whatever Sam wanted of him. He hated himself that first night Sam woke up from a nightmare, trying to crawl into Dean's bed, and Dean told him no.

Years later it was him who got into Sam's bed, their nightmares being his excuse all the same, and it was during those nights that Dean had to learn that he still got regular erections with his brother lying besides him, this time they were all about Sam, though.

They both held back then, even though Dean caught Sam with a hard-on and a guilty look on his face on too many occasions for it to be a coincidence, however, he didn't dare to get his hopes up. Didn't dare to hope that his brother was as perverted as he was.

Now, they're having sex regularly, as if they never did anything else, all the while Sam avoids any other physical contact, and Dean tries and fails to tell himself it doesn't mean anything.

-

“You checked right?” he asks Bobby on the phone one night when he's sure Sam won't be back for a while, “You checked it's him?”

“Of course I did. You did, too.”

“Yes, but something isn't right.”

“He went to hell,” Bobby reminds him, angry nearly.

“I know, but it's not that, it's... Sometimes I don't even recognize him. He does things, he wouldn't have done before.” Sam's more ruthless, making decisions he wouldn't even have considered a year ago, and Dean tries to tell himself those are the only things he's worried about.

“You need to get your act together, he needs you now,” Bobby says with a sigh, and maybe he's right.

-

Dean gets nearly turned into a vampire, some ritual he never heard of before saving his ass last minute, and it's only later that night when he lies in bed, about to pass out in exhaustion, when he remembers. Remembers the vampire with its bloody wrist hovering over his mouth, himself unable to move, unable to get away. And then he remembers Sam standing twenty feet away, watching, smiling, not doing a single thing to stop this.

-

“He doesn't have a soul,” Castiel says with a frown upon his face.

“Where is it?” Dean asks, doing his best to not look at Sam, who's still groaning in pain from Castiel's examination, and his face bloody from Dean beating him unconscious earlier.

“Still in the cage I presume.”

Dean's mind is reeling, trying to wrap itself around what this even means. “Is he... Is he still Sam?”

“I don't know, depends on your philosophical stand-point.”

“How do we get it back?”

-

“Did you consider I might not want it back?” Sam asks him, his face healed again thanks to Castiel's magic, and Dean doesn't even feel sorry for inflicting those wounds in the first place.

“What do you mean?” 

“I'm fine, never felt that good actually. And my soul is down there with Lucifer and Michael for over a year now, I honestly don't want it back. Seriously, Dean, you told me only bits of what was done to you down there, I don't want memories like that inside of my head.”

“This is not up for debate.”

“Why not?”

For a second Dean's speechless, can't believe he's having this conversation with Sam. Or with someone who looks like him. He still doesn't get whether this person is his brother or not. “You don't have a conscience, you said it yourself, you don't feel anything.”

“So what? What does it matter?” Then, when Dean doesn't answer him for a few seconds, Sam adds with a grin, “Is it because you're afraid I don't love you anymore? Well, I don't, you're right, doesn't mean I don't enjoy your company, though. And you can't deny that the thing we have going on now is way better than those years of awkward fumbling.”

“Fuck you,” Dean hisses and Sam only laughs.

-

After that he's determined to not touch Sam again, to not take advantage of this person who looks, and smells, and tastes like his brother, and who doesn't have a soul to tell him, that what they're doing is wrong. He lasts three days, then Sam straddles him inside the car, kisses him deep and nearly lovingly and says, “Tell me to stop. Tell me stop and I will.”

Dean just keeps kissing him.

-

He visits Lisa after a month of not showing up and having too short, meaningless conversations with her every few days at best. “I knew it was over the moment Sam walked through that door,” Lisa says and doesn't even sound angry, just tired, “That thing you two got going on is not healthy, you know that, don't you.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, because what else is there left to say.

“Are you fucking him?” she asks all of a sudden and for a second Dean's sure he imagined it.

He's too shocked to answer, and apparently she didn't expect him to, “I thought I was crazy back then, because it couldn't be true. But I saw the way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him whenever you thought no one was watching. I told myself you were just close, too close, yes, but it didn't seem so strange, considering everything you went through. And during this last year I tried to forget about it because Sam was dead, but then he came back, and with him that look in your eyes. I knew when you returned from killing that djinn, I didn't want to believe it, but I knew.”

Dean wants to run, wants to just set off without another word, and never come back again, but can't be doing this to her on top of everything else. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, uselessly.

She looks shocked, probably expected him to deny it, to call her crazy, anything. “Did you ever even love me?”

“Yes,” he says and prays it isn't a lie.

-

“Do you realize he might not want you anymore?” Sam asks while Dean's balls-deep inside him. “You know that he's a better person than you, do you really think he wants to get fucked by his big brother?”

They're face to face this time. They hardly ever do it this way and Dean suddenly realizes why Sam insisted on it so vehemently. It was nearly sweet until now, Sam has his legs around Dean's waist, pulling him deeper inside with every thrust, while they were kissing lazily. Dean feels sick now, looking into Sam's grinning face.

“Shut up,” he snaps. Sam wanted this, wants this, he told Dean, and Dean couldn't do it back then because the world was going to end. But Sam wants him, and that's the only reason Dean lets himself do this right now.

“That's not an answer, Dean. Are you sure he's not going to hate you? That he's not going to run from you the moment he's back?”

No, he's not, but it doesn't matter because he can't let Sam's soul rot in hell, he can't.

“Don't destroy what we have here,” Sam continues, “It's all you've ever wanted, I know it. I get you like he never did. I can be so good for you, I can be everything to you and more.”

Dean needs him to shut up, can't listen to it any longer, and he considers just gagging Sam with his fingers, is afraid they'll both like it, though, so he simply pulls out and gets a frustrated groan in return. “Oh, come on, don't leave me hanging like this!”

Dean ignores him, already setting off to the bathroom, feeling close to throwing up and crying at the same time.

-

“I found a way. You'll get your soul back, and you won't remember a thing that happened down there.”

“I don't want it,” Sam says and Dean didn't expect anything else.

“You don't get a saying in this.”

“It's _my_ soul! I'll decide what's going to happen to it, and I don't want it inside me.”

“I don't care,” Dean says and sets off to fulfill the deal he made with Death. He should've known better.

-

When he returns he finds Sam with a knife in his hand, about to thrust it right into Bobby's heart. One second later and Bobby would've been dead, and Dean will never forgive himself for letting him alone with Sam, with this _thing_ , in the first place.

He knocks Sam out, again, and they chain him up down in the cellar, waiting for Death to return with Sam's soul. All the while Sam's screaming, shouting various curses, telling Dean he makes a mistake, and Dean listens to every single word because he deserves worse than this.

When Death finally sits down beside Sam, holding a ball of light in his hand that draws Dean in with its beauty, Sam starts begging, “Don't let him do this, Dean. Please. I don't want it. I won't do anything you don't want me to, okay. I'll do better, but don't put this inside of me.”

It hurts, seeing Sam like this, because for the first time in six months there's real fear in his eyes. “Dean, please. You know it won't be like it has been, he won't understand. Don't give us up. He'll never give you what I can, he doesn't love you like I do.”

Then, finally, Death pushes the soul back inside.

-

They're upstairs in the kitchen, waiting for Sam to wake up. Castiel said he isn't sure if it's ever going to happen, but Dean has to believe it, can't give up now.

“What he said down there...” Bobby grumbles, hesitantly, “What did he...?”

“I can't, not now.” Dean says, defeated. And Bobby nods, one little, hard motion, and Dean realizes that this talk isn't over. It's not even the worst thing that has happened to him today.

“Dean?” a voice suddenly says. Dean turns around, slowly, and finds himself face to face with Sam.

  
  



	8. season six, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter is somewhat different, again, since it's really dialogue-heavy and revolves mainly around one conversation Sam and Dean have.
> 
> I'm really thankful for all of you reading this! I'm still having so much fun writing it, and it's such a great feeling to see other people are really reading it. So, I'm totally happy about every kudo, and comment, no matter how short! (: And come by my [tumblr](https://staubfinger.tumblr.com) if you want to scream about this show or just silently follow each other.
> 
>  _Little Warning_ : There is some discussion whether previous sex was consensual or not, if you need more info, just message me.

The last thing Sam remembers is being inside his body without having any control over it. He remembers seeing Dean's face, bloody and broken, and he remembers throwing himself over the edge, right into the abyss. When he wakes up it's with a gasp and the expectation of fire burning the skin off his bones, instead he doesn't feel anything. It takes him a few seconds to take his surrounding in and to realize that he's in Bobby's basement, lying on a hard bed, and all alone in his head.

None of this makes any sense.

Automatically he gets up, finds his way upstairs and into the kitchen where Dean and Bobby are standing next to each other. Sam's lips begin to tingle with the memory of Dean kissing them what feels like a few hours ago. It can't be real, nothing of this can be real.

“Sammy?”

“What happened?” While he asks this he's already crossing the room to pull Dean into a bone-crushing hug, and for a glorious second he doesn't even care about the answer.

-

He believes Dean's lies for two days, that's until he talks to Cas and realizes he was back the whole time. With the small exception of his soul of course.

-

“Why didn't you tell me?” He's livid, shaking in anger and disbelieve. They did some horrible shit to each other over the years, but they never lied to each other, not about something like that.

“Don't you get it? That fucking wall inside your mind is the only thing that keeps you alive! One tiny scratch and it could break. Did Cas fail to mention what he felt when he touched your soul? I tried to keep you safe.” Dean's pacing up and down the room, looking anywhere but at Sam, seemingly just as pissed off.

“The fuck you did. I'm not asking you to share stories about hell with me, but you could at least have mention the fact that I ran around without any conscience for a year and a half. That I nearly _killed Bobby_.” Even thinking those words makes his stomach turn. Bobby kept his distance while Dean filled him in on what had happened, and Sam noticed it somewhere in the back of his mind, but didn't give it too much of a thought, since all he really cared about was the way Dean stood so close to him. Now, however, the way Bobby refused to look him in the eyes makes sense, because Sam tried to _fucking kill him_ no twenty-four hours prior.

“It wasn't you,” Dean finally stops pacing and faces Sam for the first time since he came back to their motel-room, “Those things this person did, none of that is on you. That was not you.”

“Bullshit. Of course, it was _me_. It was my body, my brain, my everything.”

“It was a meat-suit doing things you would've never done. It's not a person's fault when a demon inside them goes on a killing spree.”

Taking the strange voice in Dean's voice in he isn't believing the stuff he's saying himself.

“You can't compare that,” Sam argues all the same, “And you know it. You're just trying to talk your way out of lying to me.”

“Oh for Christ's sake, Sam, how old are you? Six? People lie, get the fuck over it!”

“We don't lie to each other!"

“We don't?” Dean huffs, “So, I just imagined you fucking Ruby and drinking her blood, all the while telling me it was over?”

Sam bites his lips then, guiltily, because yes, he did that, for _months_ on end, and Dean took him back still, didn't even mention it again until now. “It was different back then,” he says with a small voice.

“Oh yes? Why? Because your perfect, little self is allowed to lie, but not me? Sounds really fair.”

“No, because we were different then.” ( _It was before you told me you wanted me, too_. But he can't say it, he can't.)

“Sam,” Dean sighs, softer, “I just wanted to protect you.”

“Same thing that I wanted to do.”

Dean wants to argue, it's all over his face, instead he visibly swallows it done. “I'm sorry, okay.”

“Just tell me everything that happened. That's all I ask. So, what else did I do?”

“Nothing, Sammy. You were a pain in the ass, but that's nothing new, is it?”

He doesn't believe a word, is too afraid to ask again, though.

-

“I'm sorry Bobby, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I don't know why I... I don't remember any of it, but that's not an apology. I already packed my stuff, and I won't- I won't be bothering you again. There's-”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Bobby cuts him off, grumbling, “It wasn't you.”

“It was.”

“Maybe, but not all of you. I know you, kid, you wouldn't even think about doing stuff like that with your soul back in place.”

“Never, Bobby, never,” Sam promises, fighting the tears he's close to shed. Bobby is like a father to him, no more than that, and the thought of not being able to talk to him ever again made Sam nearly go mad.

“Good. What else did your brother tell you?”

“He didn't tell me anything, it was all Cas. Why? What else is there?” he asks, breathless, not ready for whatever horrors Bobby's going to tell him now.

“Nothing,” with a shake of his head Bobby gets up, “You just weren't a pleasant person to be around, that's all. Glad you're back to your old self.” And with that he's walking back to his house.

-

Bits and pieces of memory start to come back, thankfully not from his time in the cage, but things his soulless self did. They're not coherent, more senses than real memories, but it's enough to get the general picture across.

“I killed so many people,” he says more or less to himself while sitting inside the Impala, one week into being back.

“What? Are you remembering stuff?” Dean seems more scared than confused, hands grabbing the wheel impossibly tighter.

“Not really, it's more of a feeling, but there's so much blood.”

“There has always been a lot of blood in our lives,” Dean reminds him, calmer now.

“It's not like that. I can't really explain it. It's- fuck I just need to know what I did that year I was on my own.” The year he roamed the earth, soulless, while Dean finally got his shot on a normal life. That's the other thing he regrets, aside from nearly murdering Bobby, the most, that he dragged Dean back into this. (Doesn't mean he isn't incredibly thankful as well.)

“It's better that you don't remember, means the wall is still intact.”

“It's not right, not taking any responsibility for what I did.”

“Dammit, Sam,” Dean suddenly growls, “You saved the world, that's what you fucking did. Now stop trying to mess around with the only thing that's keeping you sane and running, I can't lose you again, okay.”

Sam does his best to comply then, or at least to shut up about it.

-

It's awkward between them, which is to be expected after Dean spent months with a soulless version of himself, yet Sam can't deny that it hurts. Dean told him, ' _I want this, I want you_ ,' what feels like a few weeks ago, and now he's distant, hardly ever gets closer to Sam than strictly necessary, let alone show sign that he even remembers how he kissed Sam not just once, but twice. The world isn't ending anymore, neither of them has a death-sentences hanging over their head, and they should finally be able to talk about it. However, Sam had six months to destroy what had started to develop between them, and with everything passing day he's getting more and more certain that he was successful with it.

-

Lisa calls, once, twice, and then again the next day, and every time Dean tries and fails to hide the caller ID from him. A tiny, ugly part of Sam wants to steal the phone and block the number, but he isn't that kind of person, at least he's telling myself that.

“Answer it,” he says when Lisa calls for the sixth time.

For a moment it seems like Dean won't, then he picks up, though, and Sam ignores the way his stomach tightens into a knot.

“It was Ben,” Dean states after he hung up, “Says something's wrong with Lisa, that she won't leave the bedroom.”

Sam nods, that much he figured. “You should go.”

“The case-” Dean protests as if Sam didn't work alone for a year.

“Just go,” Sam repeats.

When Dean walks out of the door Sam wishes he'd begged him to stay instead.

-

It takes Sam nearly twenty-four hours before it starts to dawn on him that Dean might not be coming back. At first, it's just a ridiculous, little thought, but then he calls Dean, even though he swore to himself he wouldn't, and goes straight to voice-mail. He makes himself ask about Lisa, pretends he didn't just call to let Dean's voice soothe his worries. Later, he tries again, with the same result, and does his best to not assume the worst. It's hard, though _._

Sam finishes the case, goes back to the awfully empty motel-room, catches a few, restless hours of sleep, and feels absolutely helpless when his third call gets unanswered as well. It's been just over two days, he reminds himself, and the drive to Lisa's takes twelve hours, so of course Dean isn't back yet, and he merely turned his phone off to not be disturbed. Everything's _fine_. (Maybe Sam will start to believe it when he just repeats those words over and over again.)

Around noon, he leaves the motel to grab something to eat. He spent the morning looking for a new case, desperate to take his mind off of things, but his growling stomach makes it harder to concentrate by the minute.

When he returns to the room, however, he nearly drops the container with pasta he just bought, since he finds himself face to face with a tensed looking Dean. “Where have you been?” he asks, sitting on the chair Sam spent the last hours on, a small smile on his lips despite his strained posture.

“Just... around the block,” Sam mumbles, stuck half outside still, the feeling of relief that's floating his body making it hard to move, let alone think.

“Finished the case?” Dean's tone is casual, as if he wasn't just gone two days during which he had his phone deliberately turned off.

“Yes, found the body, burned it.” Sam finally closes the door behind himself, places the container absently on the counter and sits down next to Dean.

“Good,” Dean nods and musters Sam with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“How's Lisa?” Sam asks, his voice sounding surprisingly concerned. He doesn't really care, at least he didn't until now.

“Fine, it was... She had a date and Ben didn't want her so go, so he faked an emergency, hoped I'd talk her out of it.”

“I'm sorry.”

Dean raises a brow, “For what?”

“That she's dating again,” Sam answers, voice flat.

With a huff Dean shakes his head, “It's over, I told you.”

“Yeah, well, just because something's over doesn't mean you're happy about it.” He's feeling weirdly bitter all of a sudden, and taking in the way Dean's squinting his eyes, he isn't able to hide it.

“You told me to go, I thought she was in danger,” Dean says, nearly defensive.

“I know,” Sam sighs, "I know it's just... Whatever, it's fine. We'll, so where did you two left off?"

"What are you even talking about?"

Yeah, what is he talking about? He gets up then, walks over to the counter and fumbles with the pasta box as if he could stomach anything right now. Dean was gone two days, the drive must have taken him one, plus a few hours of sleep, leaves a lot of time that Dean probably spent at Lisa's. "Are you gonna see her again?" Sam asks, turning around and looking down at Dean.

"Like I said a few seconds ago, it's over." Dean doesn't want to talk about it, that much is obvious, but now that Sam started, he can't keep the words from rushing out of his mouth.

"Yes, but now you saw her again, and you two had the chance to talk, maybe you realized you were an idiot for giving up on her."

"I didn't give up on... Fuck Sam, I just drove thirteen hours straight to have you bitch at me."

"I'm not bitching at you," Sam snaps in a not-at-all bitchy tone, thank you very much, "I want to know what you've got going on with her, that all."

The thing is, he was understanding when Dean told him he went to Lisa's more or less immediately after Sam was gone, he really was, because a part of him was glad that Dean got out, that he didn't try to sell his soul again, or some other suicidal shit. Therefore, Sam swallowed down all those questions he had. Why Lisa when Dean hadn't even seen her in years? Or did he? Was it a lie when he told Sam that he wanted him? And what about those kisses. It was Dean who kissed him, not the other way around, and it was Dean who lay in the arms of another person one week later. So what if he only ever kissed Sam as a goodbye? To give him at least that before they wouldn't see each other ever again.

"Well, it's none of your goddamn business." Dean's now getting up himself, grabbing his keys from the table.

"You're not walking out on me again!" Sam is suddenly furious, fed up with the lies, and the hiding, and the not knowing where the fuck they are right now.

"Yeah, why not?" For a second it looks like Dean will just ignore him, but then he comes to a halt in the middle of the room, fingers twitching.

"Because I deserve to know what happened last year!" Sam shouts, then takes a breath and continues calmer, "What I did- What you did. Why you can hardly even look at me. Whether you're just staying due to some weird sense of duty, while you actually want to be with Lisa and Ben. You lived with her for a year, you loved her, she gave you the normal life you always wanted. So why are you here?"

"Because she's not what I want, Sam! That fucking life wasn't what I wanted. And even if I did, I will never get it back, that much she made clear." He whispers those last words, so low that Sam hardly hears them.

"Why? What happened?" He feels nearly guilty for asking, nearly.

"She fucking knows okay! She asked me whether I'm fucking you and I didn't even deny it," Dean laughs then and it sounds a little hysteric, "I only said that I'm sorry."

Sam's baffled, the thought that Dean talked with anyone about this, especially someone who's not Sam, is ridiculous. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't know, because I'm an asshole? Because I finally decided she deserved the truth after I lied to her for a year? Because I wanted to break up and knew that would seal the deal? Pick one."

"No, I mean, yes, that too, but it wasn't even true Dean," Sam shakes his head, tries to fight the uneasy feeling that begins to spread in his body, "We didn't know who we were. It doesn't count, it's not like..." _It's not like it happened again_.

Dean's face breaks, the ugly smile is replaced with a pained look, and he turns unnaturally white in the matter of seconds. He glances at the door, probably wondering if he should run after all, at least that is what Sam's doing right now.

“Dean?” His voice is hoarse, and it makes Dean flinch.

When Sam doesn't say anything else Dean throws the keys back on the table, sits down on his bed with an undefinable sound coming from his lips, shoulders slumped in what seems to be defeat. “I thought you were gone, dead, worse than dead. And then you suddenly weren't. You stood in front of me in that garage, alive and fine, and I was so sure it was you.”

Sam doesn't correct him, doesn't say that it was indeed him, he's unable to speak, to think clearly. However, he needs to know that he's not wrong, that he isn't just imagining it, and when Dean doesn't continue, Sam asks, “What happened then?”

“I kissed you,” Dean says, and makes it sound like a confession, “I wasn't thinking... I was so relieved you were back.”

“Did we more than kiss?”

“Not that day.”

Sam's legs nearly give in. They spent six months together, and they kissed on day one, and Sam doesn't remember any of it. He lies awake at night, wondering what he did during those months he had no soul, is scared of the answers, but he never wanted to remember as desperately as he does right now.

“What else did we do?”

“Sam,” Dean groans, adverting his eyes and focusing on his hands instead, “Don't do that. You don't want to know.”

“I don't want to know? No, _you_ just don't want me to-” Then, suddenly, everything makes sense. The way Dean's avoiding him, not looking at him, refusing to acknowledge that he told Sam he wanted him too, why he seems so terrified. Sam has never seen Dean that way, so broken and small like he's now, sitting on his bed, curled into himself. “What have I done to you?”

Dean looks up again, faces Sam with his too wide eyes and pale skin. “You- What? No, you didn't-”

His mind is reeling, he wants to remember and to forget everything all the same, he wants to run and go right back into that cage. He belongs there. All those years he fantasized about his brother, and the second he knew he wouldn't feel guilty about it, he went ahead and... ”Oh God, I should've known. I was capable of killing Bobby, how could I think that- Fuck- How could I-”

“Dammit Sam, stop this! You didn't do anything.”

“Not that again! It was _me_! It doesn't matter that my-”

“No, fuck, listen to me!” Dean gets up then, stays right in front of the bed, though, hands held high like he's calming a wild animal. Well, that's what Sam is, isn't it. “I'm not talking about whether that was you or not those past months, okay. You didn't force me to do anything, or whatever it is what you think happened. It was cons- I wanted it.”

“You're just-” Sam begins to protest, but is interrupted again.

“I'm not just saying this to make you feel better. Sam, that's not what happened, I promise you. You never- You never did anything I didn't want you to.”

He wants to believe it, so bad that it hurts, but he can't, not when Dean's looking at him like that, not after he's been lied to ever since he came back. “You said you weren't ready, you said you didn't want to take it any further, and the moment I'm back you were totally on board with it? How am I supposed to believe that?”

“You were gone for a year,” Dean's pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes filling with tears he obviously fights. He's taking a shaky breath, and Sam takes hold of the counter behind him to not just go over there and take Dean into his arms, to kiss the unshed tears away. “You were gone for a year, and I got myself a job and a family. Shit, and Lisa and Ben are great, far better than anything I've ever deserved. And no one was after me, nothing was trying to kill me, and it didn't matter, because none of that was enough. Nothing was ever fucking enough because you were _gone_. And all I could think about was how stupid I had been, telling you no, how much I regretted it. And then you stood suddenly in front of me.”

“And you didn't say no again?” Sam concludes, voice hoarse.

Dean shakes his head.

“What else did we do?”

“Sam,” again this pleading tone in Dean's voice, that's making it obvious he's still hiding something.

“Tell me, please, I need to know. Just- just tell me okay. You said we did more than kissing? What- Did I-? We-?” Sam feels his cheek turning red, which is ridiculous, considering he's far from a blushing virgin and what they've done already.

Surprisingly, Dean's face isn't so pale anymore either. “You gave me a blow-job during our first hunt. And I told myself it wouldn't happen again. I was still with Lisa and she- Well, I went back to her, and when you called me I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I fucked you then.”

Sam turns hot all over by those words. He _blew Dean_ , he _got fucked by Dean_ , and seemingly not just once, and he doesn't remember a goddamn thing. It's so fucking unfair that he nearly start to cry. Finally, he got all that he ever wanted, all that he ever dreamed of, and he can't even remember it. They had their first time together while they didn't even know who they were, and their second, third, however many times, while Sam lacked a soul. He wants to tear down that wall inside his head, consequences be damned, he'd gladly take all those memories of hell if it only means he'll remember those last few months on earth as well.

He realizes he does cry after all when Dean comes closer hesitant step by step, stopping halfway there, though. “I'm so sorry, Sammy, I'm so fucking sorry.”

With an ugly, little sound Sam shakes his head, wipes those tears away and feels like an idiot, “It's not your fault, it's not. Everything is just so frustrating. I wanted you, since I was fucking fourteen, and now I don't remember _a thing_. And I don't even know where we are right now. Because you didn't even want to tell me what happened, which can only mean you regret it, that I fucked everything up, and I don't even know how I did it.”

“No, it's not that, you didn't fuck up anything,” Dean objects, speaking through gritted teeth, ”It was me, I should've never even touched you. You had no soul, and I _fucked you_. There was nothing in your head telling you how wrong this was, that held you back, that could protect you from me.”

“I wanted it Dean,” Sam says, confused, “I always wanted you, soul intact or not. Hell, I even wanted you when I barely knew what sex was, when I had no clue I liked men, or that I even _could_ like men. It was always _you_.” They had that conversation already a few weeks- no, about two years ago, and Sam thought they were over the ' _It's wrong_ '-part. At least he was, but he had years to get used to how fucked up he was, not to forget he has an addiction to demon-blood, that made anything else pale in comparison. Dean is, on the other hand, obviously still struggling with it, even after what they apparently did, and that can only mean that he will never get used to the thought.

The desire to just run is back with full force. Sam can't hear Dean say it, not after nearly having him, he _can't_. For a moment he wishes Dean just never returned from Lisa's, maybe it would've made everything easier, for both of them.

“But wanting it and going through with it is not the same.” Dean speaks those dreaded words with a pained look on his face, and Sam's grip around the counter tightens, just to hold himself upright.

“You want me gone?” he asks, the words burning on his tongue.

“No,” Dean says hastily, “No, of course not. I- But you should want me gone. Fuck, Sam. I did this to you. Just that it wasn't even you. It was your body, and I-I-” He stops mid-sentence, biting his lips, the tears he fought for the last minutes spilling after all.

Sam doesn't even know whether they're talking about the same thing anymore, yet he's somewhat relieved. At least Dean isn't kicking him out right now, at least he's still got a chance. “You didn't know Dean, you didn't know I had no soul, and that I wouldn't remember.”

For a few heartbeats it's silent, then, “I didn't know in the beginning, but then... I did,” Dean whispers with a look on his face like he's expecting Sam to hit him.

And Sam doesn't understand what he's trying to say, until he does and a heavy feeling sets in his stomach. “I thought you found out I hadn't a soul just a few weeks before you brought it back.” Dean never said it, he never shared any details about those last six months, let alone a timeline, Sam just assumed it due to the way Dean had phrased it.

“I knew something was wrong after a few days, deep down I knew it, but I didn't want to,” Dean says, looking at a spot right besides Sam's head, “I was just so glad you were back, that we... had this. And when I found out, I wanted to stop, I promise you I wanted to stop. And I told you that- _him_ , but then he kissed me a few days later, told me to say no, and he would stop. But he looked like you Sammy, he talked like you, and most of the time he passed as you, and he smelled like you, and tasted like you, and I- I said yes. I always said yes.”

Sam doesn't know how he's supposed to response to this, because he gets it, he does completely. If the roles were reserved he would've done the same. Despite how Dean's making it sound right now, it was _Sam_ , and of course that Sam wanted Dean, of course Sam didn't care that a part of him was missing. And even though he knows all of that, the feeling inside his stomach gets only heavier. It nearly feels like Dean _cheated_ on him, with someone who looked like Sam, but wasn't him. It's ridiculous really, they weren't together, and even if they were, _it was him_ , Dean thought it was all of him in the beginning.

“It's-” Sam shakes his head, “I think I need some fresh air.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean whispers, eyes wide, fearful.

“I'm not mad,” Sam says, and he really isn't, that much he's certain of, “I just need time to think, and I can't- can't while I'm sitting next to you.”

“Yes, sure,” Dean agrees, getting more and more stiff by the second.

The urge to take Dean to one of the beds, to lie down with him, kiss him, feel him, forget everything, nearly get unbearable, but Sam can't be doing this right now, not while he's so fucking confused.

He goes over to the table, takes the keys, and sees Dean flinching out of the corner of his eye. “I will come back,” and when he sees the fear on Dean's face, he adds, “I'll just go for a drive, I promise.”

“Take all the time you need,” Dean says when Sam's nearly out of the door, and it sounds at lot like a ' _Please stay_ '.

-

Sam does take a drive then. He around drives aimlessly for an hour or two until he stops at a small lake and sits on one of the benches and stares into the water. He wants to remember, he wants to remember so bad that he's sick with it. Everything is so fucking confusing that he doesn't even know what he's supposed to think, and over all of this, he realizes that Dean didn't even tell him whether he still wants him. Because for Sam nothing has changed; he wants Dean, he always will, and he'll work through his confusion, optimally with Dean filing in the gasps.

Above all, Sam realizes after a few hours, he feels robbed, robbed of all those first times they had, and while they can make new memories for Sam, they won't be firsts for Dean. However, he regained some sort of vague sense of what he did the last months, so maybe that's true for the times he slept with Dean as well. A shiver is running down his spine, even thinking it. _He slept with Dean. They had sex._ At one point he begins to laugh, and a woman who's apparently taking a walk around the lake gives him a weird side-eye, and when Sam waves she only walks faster. Which is understandable, considering he's a huge guy, sitting on a bench alone, laughing like a crazy-man. And he feels a little crazy at that moment, but the good kind of crazy, and that's something.

It's already turning dark before Sam gets into the Impala and drives back to their motel. The whole time he's twitchy, cannot get there soon enough while a part of him wants to turn around all the same. They need to talk about this, he wants to kiss Dean silly more, though, and he doesn't have the first clue if Dean's in for it.

When he comes back, however, Dean's already asleep, still fully dressed, TV turned on, and a few empty cans of beer on the ground beside him. He's drinking a lot again, Sam realizes suddenly, more or less every day, and it had been better before Sam went to hell. Maybe Sam merely didn't pay any attention to it back then, though, since they had more pressing issues on their minds, but they don't, not now. It's a good feeling, a fucking good one, to be able to worry about their health because death isn't inevitable close for the first time in _years_.

With a small smile on his lips Sam turns off the TV and goes into the bathroom, and when he comes out again he finds Dean wide awake. “You're back?” Dean asks, disbelieving.

“Yeah, I said so, didn't I?”

Dean sits up looking somewhat helpless, and following an instinct Sam asks, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

A choked noise is coming from Dean's lips, then, “Sure.”

“Get rid of your shoes and jeans first, it's gross,” Sam teases, feeling lighter by the second. He takes off his own, hesitates when he reaches his shirt, and pulls it over his head anyway. Dean visibly swallows, making Sam's skin prickle under the gaze, and then follows suit.

Grinning despite not really wanting to, Sam lies down on his side, and when Dean doesn't move an inch, Sam slings his arms around Dean's middle, pulling him down as well. They're lying pressed together, head to toe, Dean's back against Sam's chest, and Sam finally feels himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding for hours, days maybe.

Dean smells exactly like he remembers him, and Sam burrows his nose in that nape of his neck, inhaling, lets his lips trail.

“Why?” Dean asks, voice thin, shudder running down his spine.

“It's fine Dean, _we_ are fine.” Sam says and feels Dean relax in his embrace while he kisses every inch of skin he can reach.

“I'm so fucking sorry, I don't-” Dean whispers, again sounding choked.

“It's fine,” Sam repeats, “Everything is okay. We'll work through this, but not now, I need to sleep, and you do, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, and Sam hears the smile on his lips.

They're staying like that, impossible close, holding each other, just how it's supposed to be, and Sam nearly drifted off when his stomach begins to growl, clenching around nothing uncomfortably.

“Did you eat my pasta?” he asks, realizing he didn't have anything to eat for over a day now.

“Maybe,” Dean mutter, “There might be a bit of burger left that I could bring you, though.”

“Don't you dare to get up.”

They're gonna be fine, everything is going to be fine.


End file.
